


Eternal War Book IV: Wrath of the Dead

by Anchanted_One



Series: Eternal War [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Don't post on another site without permission, Gen, Magic, Mystery, The Force, They drop like flies, Weird little adventure, but these are chill ghosts, ghosts at work, major character deaths, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanted_One/pseuds/Anchanted_One
Summary: Death is only the beginning. Kai'rene Rooks, the Empire's Wrath, died long ago but has no wish yet to rest. And now, out of the blue, the mysterious apparition that spooked hundreds of dead in the World of the Dead has caused another disturbance in the Force, but this time, it is the dead that must act, rather than leave it to the Living.Kai'rene volunteers to investigate the shade's actions, and to stop him herself if it becomes necessary.She has agreed to become... the Wrath of the Dead.
Relationships: Female Sith Warrior & Jaesa Willsaam, Lana Beniko/Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython, Male Smuggler/Cedonia Teraan, Risha Drayen/Merritt Rineld, Risha Drayen/Vette
Series: Eternal War [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350574
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. The Dead Stir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows Book 3 Chapter 3:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/61230373

* * *

**Odessen**

Jaesa meditated in the Force Enclave in Odessen. Something was calling her, something whose voice teased the outside edges of her hearing, and her gut told her it was highly important. But all her inner eye could see, for miles and miles, was an ocean, dark and deep, stretching out infinitely in all directions. It frightened her, but her resolve held.

Then a shaft of light appeared, startling her and drawing her in.

“Jaesa!” said a familiar voice. It sounded relieved.

“Master?” Jaesa felt her spirits rise. “Is that you?”

“Indeed it is!” Her Master’s face appeared in the light. It appeared more godly and perfect somehow, despite the scar still on her face even in death. “Jaesa, I had hoped our reunion would leave time for proper catching up. But something has come up. Something urgent. I need you help, if you are willing.”

“Ask, and I shall come, Master.”

“Come to Flammenschwert Fortress, on Hoth. Find the place where I fell. I will be waiting for you. Oh, and tell Arro you might not be back in time to help him with his war.”

“Yes, Master.” 

* * *

**A few hours earlier. Maybe. Time works different here, alright?** **  
****Location: Error 66: Records not found**

Some ghosts told the living that time worked differently for the dead. Truth was, everything did. Take size, for instance. Kai’rene floated in an endless ocean of light, dark, and shadow. Almost all of the dead were entirely part of this sea— the entire sea, in a way, for they couldn’t be isolated from the current. ‘They’ were just as likely to be at this point of the tide as they were a different part a long way off. The ocean that Kai’rene had chosen to call ‘The Other World’ was equal parts turbulent and tranquil, and upon its waves rode images from the Living World, memories of those from their lives.

The Jedi had got it somewhat right. There was no death, only the Force. But it was still only a small part of that Force. Life was another part. And it had its effect on this side; for though most of the dead had long since united with the flows of Other World, their memories bled into the waves, affecting the region directly around them by temporarily asserting rules of the Living World upon it. It was these small and fleeting areas where Kai’rene and others like her existed; souls of the dead who had chosen not to fully merge with the Force just yet. 

Some like Kai were recent. But some others were ancient beyond reckoning. And with that age—a false concept though it might seem—they were also wise and learned beyond measure.

But for her part, Kai was still struggling to make sense of this alien place. To her mind, she was a seed most of the time; the core thinking processes and personality of the Warrior she had once been, but which was a dormant sleeper for a lot of the time.

But every so often, the full force of Darth Prowle could be reformed around this seed. But though some level of her felt like this full-fledged version of herself was many times larger than the dormant seed, she also couldn’t shake off the feeling that she remained infinitesimally tiny. She rarely reformed though. Not only was the semi-hibernation mode relaxing, it was enjoyable. She saw more, understood more.

But reformed, she could influence the world around her again, both here and in the Living World. It was how one sort of Force Ghost persisted—the at-peace variety.

This particular time she had been roused by the image of a Zabrak with the tattoo of a spider on his face surfing countless waves across Other World at the same time, and a very bad feeling sending alarm bells ringing her out of her dormant state. “Zabrak! Where are you? Come out!”

She exerted her will on the world around her and some of the sea around her recoiled.

A high-pitched, bird-like voice spoke from behind her “You know that won’t do anything, right?”

Kai’rene turned around. “Master... Teyari’chiy, right? This is a surprise.” The amorphous blob that the ancient Je’daii Master had manifested as seemed to bow, though Kai’rene could not be sure; its ungainy movements were very dissimilar from normal gestures of the living. 

“I am pleased that you know who I am,” the blob said. “We haven’t spoken yet.”

“A little less relevant than it would have been for a living being, yes?” Kai’rene joked. “We’re all friends here, it feels like.”

“Indeed it does!” A deep voice emerged from the mist. This one took the approximate form of a Draethos, with its classic overbite. “Odan-Urr, at your service!”

Kai’rene looked around. There were dozens of shapes swirling into being around her now, some as indistinct as the ancient Je’daii master Teyari’chiy, others a lot more recognizable. She tried to recite their names in her head until the throng grew too large for her: Bastila Shan, Revan, The Exile Raya Kol, Master Mical, Ajunta Pall, Nomi Sunrider, Veeton Skor, Lorjan Sakku, XoXaan. 

She felt a little honored! Wait until she told Darth Nox about this! “What a fascinating party of the dead this is!” she remarked enthusiastically. “I knew I should have stopped to pick up that bottle of wine at Albikr’key!”

“This is no laughing matter, little Sith,” the spirit of Ajunta Pall reprimanded her. “Did you not sense it? That Zabrak caused quite a stir in the Force.”

“We all sensed it, else we wouldn’t have come here,” Raya Kol said.

The areas where the Zabrak’s face had appeared—if they could call them that, there was no concept of ‘location’ here either—appeared like fraying fabric. The wavefronts, where the Laws of the Living World manifested only very briefly, were still affecting Other World. They seemed like they might last forever, and that these strange distortions in the fabric of their world might only get larger with time.

Things felt grim.

“So any ideas what’s happening?” Bastila asked.

“No,” Teyari’chiy said. “But it’s unprecedented. I’ve never felt _this_ side affected by a disturbance before. Usually that only happens on the other side. This bodes ill. We must act.”

“All of us?” Pall asked, disbelief coloring his aura. 

“How?” Raya asked more pragmatically, tapping her upturned nose. “I suppose we could all bust out of Other World—anything is possible after all—but it would likely shatter the barriers. We don’t even know what we are up against. We might cause more harm than good.”

“We cannot interfere directly, of course,” Teyari’chiy said. “But if some of us could work alongside one of the living—a ‘Medium’ if you would, Someone who is deeply sensitive to the Force—then perhaps they could do something. And for our part, we can… designate someone to be our own agent. Someone who carries a part of our knowledge, our power, and our authority. They walk together, and the medium channels our power through our agent. They investigate the disturbances, and deal with them if they can.”

“How, though?” Raya asked again. “All of this sounds a bit too vague for my liking.”

“Darth Nox once knew a ritual called ‘Force-walking’,” Kai’rene said. “The binding of Force Ghosts to tap into their power. Me and my apprentice saw her do it a few times, and Jaesa is not only very sensitive to the currents of the Force, she’s also pretty talented. I think she can recreate it, Bond with me. Together, we can investigate these disturbances, then commune with all of you and seek further aid. If you are willing to trust me, I would be pleased to see it done.”

“You _are_ the youngest of us here,” Raya said. “Which means your ties to the Living World are still strong enough. And you already said it earlier didn’t you? We’re all friends here.”

“I have no problem,” XoXaan said, and others echoed their assent one by one.

Kai’rene grinned wolfishly. “It’s decided then. In life, I was called the Empire’s Wrath. Can I call myself the ‘Beauty of the Dead’ this time?”

Raya burst out laughing “I approve!”

“This isn’t a joke, Kai’rene,” Pall admonished. “Now is not the time to be so ridiculous.”

“Spoilsport!” Raya muttered, tossing her red hair.

But most of the dead had already dissolved by then.

Raya turned to Kai’rene with an expression of disbelief. “Man! Meetings among the Dead are damn fast! They sure do things quickly, don’t you think?”

“So long as we can party the same long hours, am I right?”

* * *

  
  
  



	2. But the Shields...!

* * *

**Dubrillion**

_ Damn, it’s so hot and stuffy in here! _ Vette poked her head out the makeshift kitchen for a breath of fresh air and almost wished she hadn’t. 

“Oh man!” she groaned silently to Alsa, one of her coworkers in this particular stall. “The line outside must be five parsecs long!”

The Sullustan rolled her large eyes. “Which is why we’ll never get done if you need a breather every ten seconds, you idiot! Now come give me a hand here. This next batch of stew needs serving, the potatoes need mashing, and the turnips, carrots, onions and radishes need chopping. Hop, hop!.”

“Righty-way, Sarge!” Vette said, sticking her tongue out at the ex-Military cook.

The insufferable woman didn’t even notice her sarcasm! Which humorless backwater did Merrit pull  _ her _ out of anyway? The kitchen tent was set up at the entrance to the Braddock-Kells Public Park, which had once been where citizens of Ambay—one of the most luxurious cities in Rineld’s domain—used to visit for R&R amidst the peaceful lawns and trees.

Now most of that vegetation had been burned to a crisp, and served as the dining area for the now homeless civilians; rubble had been moved in from the surrounding city and arranged to form crude tables and seats for those with bad backs. Plates had been scavenged from collapsed buildings and taken out from the Count’s own palaces, but most of the planet’s food stores had been destroyed, so the remainder of local supply of it had been quickly consumed. Now food had to be shipped in from off-world, donated by Relief Organizations from Corellia and Chandrila. 

Brought in by the bravest of the brave pilots like Captains Juun Stede, Ozzik, Beryl Thorne, and Barris Shan (no relation to Vette’s buddy Theron). Few were willing to risk the hyperlanes so soon after SCORPIO’s offensive. Even Jerre Kraot—Juun’s bestest buddy—had refused to fly now.

Risha had been saddened at that, but had understood. “He’s got family to look after,” she said.

And then there was the crippling resource shortages.

There was enough food for now, but it would disappear over the next couple of weeks. Vette knew what would happen then. 

Looting. Rioting. Violence. 

Disease. Hunger. Death.

She’d seen this before. And so had Kai’rene: in fact, Vette knew that her Sith bestie had been so badly affected by this that it was what drove her to rise in the Sith ranks. She had never wanted another soul anywhere to starve if she could help it.

She had hated war with a vengeance, and gave her life for the vain hope that her sacrifice might stop the death toll.

A slight pat on her elbow startled her out of her reverie. It was the Sergeant’s wizened father. “Oh, hey Grampy Jikk! Didn’t see you there. Sorry, will get back to work now.” She wiped away the tear from her eye, surprised to even find it there.

“Hey, hey, no rush!” the eighty-year-old said. “Alsa’s a little grumpy, but she’ll understand if you’ve had enough for today. It’s tough out here, seeing that from sunup to dusk.” He nodded at some hopeful looking toddlers nearby, who seemed so hungry that they were moments from eating the burnt grass.

“Pfft! Who do you think you’re talking to?” Vette laughed, chest swelling from her weak attempt at bravado. “I’ve been to Ryloth, Kothlis, Coruscant, Hutta, Nar Shaddaa, Dromund Kaas, Balmorra, Taris, Corellia, even Hoth! I can handle it.”

“Then why were there tears in your eyes?”

“Hey, it wasn’t tears, it was the rain!” Vette protested. “And anyway forget about me; we got a lot to do now, else this line will never end!”

A woman’s voice—croaky from age and hunger—spoke up a few yards away. “It’s already about to end, little girl.” When Vette looked at the old woman in some confusion, she continued. “The end is coming. It’s here already! We’re doomed! We’re dead!” Her voice had grown louder with each syllable until she was almost screaming. 

“We’re dead!” The woman wailed loudly. “The Republic has abandoned us! Our own Nobles did nothing while we suffered and died!”

The people had grown silent at this sudden outpouring of despair. No one moved a muscle, not even to breathe, until they were certain that she had no more words left in her; her sorrow was purely of the nonverbal kind now. 

Then the muttering started. Vette couldn’t make it all out, but she caught enough. 

“Why didn’t the shields go up?” Some whispered. “What happened to our orbital defenses?” “Why didn’t the Republic come to save us?” “...Supreme Commander Malcom…” “Chancellor Madon…” “... but the shields!” “... the shields...” “...the shields…”

“They abandoned us.” “The Republic abandoned us.” “The King abandoned us.” “The Nobles abandoned us.”

Vette was starting to feel a little sick. The atmosphere here was getting tense already. One spark and everyone might just go boom! If they found out about the greedy king in  _ this _ mood, who knew how mad they’d get?

“Hey, it’s not so bad guys! The Alliance came through, didn’t it?”

The mutterings stopped. Everyone looked at her with deep suspicion and she had to swallow a very hard lump in her throat. She had been distributing free food out just minutes ago to these people! They weren’t going to hurt her… yet. 

“I mean… things look bad now, it’s true, but isn’t that always when the hero always swoops in to save the day? And has the Alliance Commander ever let us down before?” Wait wait wait wait wait WAIT! What was she saying? What was she doing? “He’s beaten bad guys who most folk were too scared to even look at funny; the Sith Emperor, Darth Malgus, Revan, Valkorion! Heck, on the day he was freed from his prison, Arcann looked invincible, but w—he took him down anyway! And in less than  _ half _ a fucking  _ year _ too! He’ll beat SCORPIO. Just see!” Vette beamed winningly and many people seemed… a little better at least.

But one old man snorted. “Some problems you can’t beat up with a lightsaber.”

“Maybe not!” Vette allowed. “But that’s why he’s got other weapons. And he’s got his buddies. Like his one-woman-think-tank of a wife, Lana Beniko. She’s smart, she’s resourceful! The two of them working together, they can conquer anything! And don’t forget people like Hylo Visz, and Admiral Aygo!”  _ And me! _ She thought proudly.  _ I’m a part of this too! _ “We—they’ll get us out of this! Just you see!”

Everyone seemed in better spirits when she was done. Even the old woman was quieting down. One of the little boys—a grandson maybe—had run up to her and given her a big hug, which seemed to have helped as much as her words.

But despite feeling pleased on multiple levels—like how she had done her first real crowd pep-talk so swell—she did feel a sense of foreboding.  _ I’m getting them to pin all their hopes on one scrawny, underfed green-boi. And his so-overworked-she’s-pale wife. I’m such an ass! _

* * *

**Odessen**

“It’s okay Vette!” Arro tried not to laugh in relief. When she had sent an urgent request for a brief, private talk, he had feared something was happening. Good old Vette! “They were losing hope, and you stepped up to the plate and did the best you could. Really, that was fantastic work! I know how despairing crowds can spiral out of control.”  _ Especially with Jhestyr’s influence, whatever form that might come as. _ Lana and Shara—two of the sharpest people he knew—believed that the Face of Hysteria would be inciting panic among the masses somehow. If only they could tell how. If only they could combat him somehow!

When they had flown to Ossus, he had hoped that Master Dayl Zoran could be of assistance there, but he had refused to even talk to Arro. 

_ Hmmm. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone with them _ . He had underestimated how much the Nautolan Master’s dislike for him had festered over the past five years. But that was neither here nor there.

“You know as well as I do that most of this Alliance only gathered because of… well.”

_ “Because they put their faith in you.” _ Vette nodded, sympathy coloring her voice. “ _ Yeah, I remember. I felt that too. We were all so ready to give up. And we nearly did. Except for you. The _ idea _ of you. _ ”

“I really wish I could ignore that,” Arro ran his hand through his hair. “Just think of myself as just another Knight. But the Alliance, Lana, Kai’rene, Satele… everyone has shown me how important symbols are.”

“ _ Do you feel up to it, kiwi boy?” _

“No. That’s why I’ve got people like Lana and Theron to shore up my back.”

Vette giggled.

“As for the shortages… we do have some plans we’re working on here. We hope to start providing food to the worst hit corners of the galaxy within the next few months.”

“ _ If we can last that long, _ ” Vette said, but her interest was piqued. “ _ What plans we talkin about? Not Odessen’s agriculture, right? Even that superfarm can’t be up to that task already! _ ”

Arro shook his head. “I’d rather not say over the comms.” It had been one of their more desperate ideas, but Hylo had brought word that the facility they’d reached out to—on a world somewhere beyond the Rishi maze—their administrators sounded hopeful. It would take a lot of investment, but maybe the galaxy wouldn’t starve to death. They’d still be hungry, however, which was why the data the settlers on Ossus had kindly provided them might also aid them greatly. “In the meantime, Hylo’s people will try to fly in more food. If we’re lucky, maybe even some heavy construction droids and their crews. It won’t build Dubrillion into an opulent looking world again, but… well.”

“ _ Yeah. It’ll start somewhere. And the people here will probably appreciate even the simplest shelters after what they’re doing to survive, y’know?” _

“Right.” Arro tapped his chin. “So unless there’s something else…?” When the Twi’lek shook her head he went on. “Alright then. You can share this with Risha. Heck, maybe Lana might want to send someone over to discuss specifics with her personally. But try not to tell anyone else, alright?”

“ _ Aye, Commander!” _

“Later then.”

“ _ Toodles! _ ”

* * *

**Chandrila**

It was late at night at the Teraan Estate. Jerre stood in the veranda in his jammies and slippers, enjoying the cold breeze that rustled his hair and clothes. He held a mug of steaming hot chocolate in his hand. On “good” bad nights it helped him go back to bed. But ever since the Droid SCORPIO’s firebombing offensive, he had not slept a wink.

Part of him wanted to help Juun and Risha. Or Vaylin and Koth at least. But how could he leave now? His family had just welcomed a new member into their group.

He had once accused his uncle Timms of hiding behind his family like a coward instead of protecting them on the front lines as a soldier. Timms had flinched at his favourite nephew’s barb, and had said “You will understand when you have kids of your own.”

And he did. How could he orphan his children, when he himself had grown up without a mother?

In the room behind him, Cedonia snored softly in her sleep. She had been relieved that he would not be flying off on any adventures anytime soon. Allan had been thrilled to know that his daddy would be here for his next birthday, instead of flying Vaylin to Voss and then on to who-knows-where as he’d originally planned. The pay had been good, but this… he looked back at Cedonia, and realized that she was only pretending to be asleep, so as not to worry him. Such a little sweetheart!

He sighed and finished his drink before returning to bed.  _ This is it, _ he decided.  _ I am retired. I’ll leave the hero business to Juun and the others. I’m a grounded man now. Galaxy doesn’t need another hotshot flying around. _

He kissed Ceddy’s brow as he settled back to bed. He thought her lips curled slightly into a smile. As he settled in, he felt sleep coming back to him after a god-knows-how-long absence.

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following this chapter: Book 3 Phantoms in the Ether, Chapter 4: The Ever Changing World  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/61703575


	3. Summons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follows book 3, Chapter 9:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/65521288

* * *

**Hoth**

Jaesa Willsaam walked through the frozen halls of the fallen fortress with great trepidation. This was the place her beloved Master had fallen. Sacrificed, for a slim shot at victory; a shot that had been squandered. That just made Master Kai’s death seem all the more pointless. Just like forty years of war, Jaesa realized sadly. This was what war did: it took the brightest and most promising people and destroyed them.

Those that didn’t die were often fundamentally changed. Bitter, weary, jaded. And for what? What had all of this fighting ever won anyone? The Sith philosophy that conflict was the fire where the strongest steel was forged was proved wrong again and again, but still they only ever doubled down with each loss, doubled and tripled and even quadrupled. The strongest Sith of the Empire had died here, and while the war had certainly done its part to strengthen her, it had also killed hundreds of Sith before they could even begin to tap into their potential. If it hadn’t, then perhaps there might have been a few dozen more of them who were at least half of Master Kai’rene’s caliber. What difference could such a number have made in this engagement alone? Would Zakuul have been able to defeat both Republic and Sith with pre-Great War levels of strength? Perhaps… perhaps they would have still won. But maybe they wouldn’t have. At least… at least it would have given her dear Master a better chance of surviving this cauldron?

The deeper she progressed into the fort, the more saddened she felt. The loss of life and that of potential… and her own personal loss. She sniffed and dabbed at her frozen tears with her thickly gloved hands. Each step required more and more of her will, for they brought her physically and spiritually closer to a place she had tried to avoid and deny for over five years: Master Kai’rene’s body, her death.

Her reluctant trudging had made her journey to the fort’s heart take much longer than it should have. Hours and hours. But here at last she stepped over a final pile of armored corpses long since frozen by Hoth’s frigid temperatures, and squinted into the dark heart of Flammenschwert Fortress. There in the gloom, she could just make out a half-seated body propped up against a corner, whose red hair had lost its luster to the unforgiving hands of time and frost. 

Nothing could have prepared her for this. A half decade of pent-up grief exploded in her chest and Jaesa felt her knees give out. She fell like a boneless pile on the frozen floor, and her breathing grew ragged and torn. She gasped for air, drinking in lungfuls of cold air—which probably would have caused severe respiratory illness if her mask hadn’t warmed the air sufficiently. She felt dizzy, so very dizzy, that all time thought threatened to go as still as the ice around her. But eventually the lull broke, and suddenly she began to cry. Harder and harder, and then she was wailing louder than she had even as a child back on Alderaan.

Mustering her last dregs of strength together she crawled on all fours to the body of her dearest friend and mentor, sobbing incoherently all the while. Then she reached a spot seven feet from the body that sent chills through her spine, a spot instinct told her was exactly where Kai’rene had been killed. This was where her life had been cut short; perhaps someone had moved the body soon afterwards so that it wasn’t lying facedown on the floor.

She went still, closing her eyes, Reaching out through the Force. Yes… she could Feel it. The last moments of Kai’rene’s life. Strongest was the pain as the hot bar of plasma ran through her spine and heart, but other sensations still lingered too: fatigue, surprise, a tinge of annoyance.

There was strong regret too, and the Wrath’s regret had a face: Jaesa’s. 

The Jedi laughed hysterically between sobs: In her precious final moments, Kai’rene had taken the time to worry about her apprentice. Jaesa felt deeply touched, and a renewed wave of sobs overcame her. And so she lay, crying for what felt like the rest of the century. Perhaps when she stepped out of the spooky dead fort she’d find that the war was over, and the galaxy thriving again.

But eventually the tears stopped, and she could uncurl from the tight ball she’d become. When she looked up, she blinked in shock: she wasn’t alone. Two women were standing in front of her, or rather the ghosts of two women—for they were transparent, insubstantial; and had a blue aura shimmering around their forms.

She did not recognize one of these; a short, beautiful woman with skin like ivory and long hair red as hot iron. Her mahogany eyes were full of concern and sympathy, and her lips curled in a gentle smile when Jaesa looked at her. 

But then Jaesa’s eyes moved to the other ghost, and everything else vanished from her mind.

“Master?”

“Hello, Jaesa!” The ghost of Lord Kai’rene Rooks smiled reassuringly back at her. It was a smile Jaesa remembered so well, for she had dreamed about it every second since her teacher had died. “You shouldn’t be _this_ surprised to see me here: I’m the one that called you here after all!”

“Master! Oh Master, how I have missed you… are you really here again? Or am I dreaming? Or is this another vision?”

“No it’s not,” her Master answered. “We’re both quite here. But we’re ghosts though, so… are we really here? That’s another question. But let’s say that we are.”

“Kai’rene,” the other cut in hesitantly. “Can we move this to… I dunno. Somewhere, anywhere else? Not only is this world dead cold, poor Jaesa is deeply affected by the proximity of your body.” 

Jaesa turned back to the first ghost. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Jaesa Willsaam.”

“Pardon my manners,” the short ghost performed an elegant curtsy worthy of the royal courts of Alderaan. “My name is Raya Kol. Some call me the ‘Exile’, as though I was the only Jedi to have been exiled by the Order.” The thought seemed to annoy her mildly. “Anyway. I’m a long dead Jedi, that’s all that matters. I just wanted to join you on part of your journey, assuming you agree to our request.”

“A request?” Jaesa was surprised. Did ghosts make requests of the Living? … Actually, Darth Nox never stopped complaining about the ghosts that plagued _her_. Apparently she was a spirit magnet.

“Yes,” Kai’rene affirmed. “But Raya’s right, I think. We need to move someplace else. Is your ship outside?”

“Yes Master.”

“Lead on then. And don’t worry, we’ll be following even if you can’t see us. We’ve Anchored ourselves to you now.”

* * *

Jaesa found the tomb much more bearable in the presence of her new tagalongs. She couldn’t see them, but silent as the grave they were certainly not. It appeared that the stranger, this ‘Exile’, was as chatty as Master Kai. And the two got along quite well too: from what Jaesa could tell, the pair were recent acquaintances, having met mere hours before—spirit world time that is, it had been around the time Master Kai had summoned Jaesa two weeks ago. The pair happily compared the “holiday” destinations their adventures had led them to. The Jedi seemed to relish discussing food and holo games, while Kai’rene talked drinks and parties. Both loved the open outdoors, fashion, and technology.

But as they spoke, Jaesa came to learn a little about their new friend. Raya talked about the times the Jedi Council had treated her like garbage. Her voice still held some of the hurt she’d felt each time they had torn into her without hesitation, without pity.

And apparently that had been several times in her life; growing up she had never seemed good enough for the old codgers, always being scolded for the smallest infractions. No matter how hard she dedicated herself, how she excelled at one subject after another. In time she had told herself that chronic fault-finding was the standard state of being, and followed her own path instead of the Council’s. It had led her to answer the Republic’s pitifully desperate calls for help when the Council gave an arrogant “We’ll look into it” and dithered for months as the invading Mandalorians swallowed one system after another. Her, along with hundreds of Jedi, led by a name Jaesa was annoyed to recognize: Revan.

And once the War was over, the Council had summoned all of the Jedi who had defied their authority. She had been the only one—in her own words—fool enough to head back into the vipers’ den. They had seen her connection to the Force damaged, becoming a WOund in the Force. And it had terrified them. But instead of understanding her—and therefore the new enemy they faced, some of whom had seen her wound and learned to mimic a few of its symptoms—they reverted to type, choosing to exile and forget her.

And then, ten years after her exile, the Force had brought her back to the core worlds, where former Consulars of the now near-extinct Jedi Order had once again used her, then attempted to discard her once again.

“I don’t understand,” Jaesa said. “What damage? How was it a weapon of these self-styled Sith?”

The ghost sighed heavily. “That is a complicated story. Suffice it to say it allowed some of them to become… something like Force-vampires, devouring it from their enemies and leaving them hollow shells. It scared the Jedi shitless.”

“If it makes you feel better, the Jedi Council hasn’t changed all that muc,” Jaesa informed her. “Collectively, I mean. Some of them were nice people and all, but when they sit their asses on their Jedi thrones they just…”

Raya had a hearty laugh at that. “Yeah? Sounds right! Somethings _never_ change! So you had your share of problems with the Council?”

“Oh, not me personally,” Jaesa smiled ruefully. “A different Jedi. Master Arro, Battlemaster of the Jedi Order.”

“Ahhh poor Arro,” Kai’rene smacked her head. “Always getting the short end of the shtick. So? How bad is it? What did they do to him this time?”

“The current Grandmaster Force Pushed him so hard he knocked him unconscious. And then he expelled him from the Order for good measure.”

Kai’rene whistled. “And just _who_ is the Grand Master?”

“Master Dayl Zoran. Barsen’thor.”

“Did you say Barsen’thor?” Raya whistled incredulously. “A Barsen’thor! There’s one alive in the Galaxy right now? And this… Arro got expelled by one? That’s not something he should put on his resume!”

“Arro’s the one who killed Revan,” Kai’rene informed her. “And several blends of Immortal Emperors. He’s just a total badass when he holds a lightsaber. A good man, but plagued by doubts and carrying his share of inner demons. I don’t think that he’s done anything that merits expulsion, though it’s probably more help than hindrance to him now. You should visit him, judge him for yourself.”

“I’d have to _find_ him first. Can you take me to him?”

“Just look for whoever it is at the center of Galactic events then,” Kai’rene said exasperatedly. “If it’s a Mirialan Jedi with a softspoke and pragmatic Sith at his side, you’ve found him.”

“That’s quite a helpful combination,” she chuckled. “I’ll pass though. Feeling the pull of the void already.”

“Really?” Jaesa looked at her in some surprise. “You don’t want to see the man who killed Revan?”

“Why? Revan’s not as special as he loved to believe.”

“That is true,” Kai’rene snorted. “Always with the ‘Only **_I_ ** can save the Galaxy’ speeches! Really got on my nerves. He even gave one of those when he was plotting a genocide of all Sith.”

“A _genocide_?”

“Yep. a 97% genocide, as his maniacal droid worshipper proudly clarified.”

“I knew I should have kicked his lights out a few dozen times way back when…” Raya muttered angrily. “Did you know he set me up? Me and what Republic forces that were not fanatically loyal to him? Promised to join up with us but hung us out to dry instead. And it was such a critical battle too! I was forced to rely on a blasted superweapon to save the Republic. My decision was a costly one, but it saved the Republic by their own estimates. And bloody _Revan_ took credit for that. I only took the fall, which I did deserve for deploying the weapon I suppose. So many of my soldiers died that day…” her voice grew softer and softer until all Jaesa could hear was barely audible mutters. The ghost’s expression was… tortured, and she wanted to comfort her somehow, but the Exile did not respond to either her voice or Kai’rene’s.

The conversation died until they boarded the ship.

* * *

Jaesa was rarely as grateful for technology of any sort as she was when switching on the heating after a foray into Hoth. She held a mug of hot chocolate in her numb hands, welcoming the warmth they offered her skin. Each sip felt like liquid life, restoring warmth to her nearly frozen insides. She sighed appreciatively. This must be what heaven feels like!

She opened her eyes to see Kai’rene smiling sadly at her. “The years have not been kind to you, have they? I’m so sorry, my dear. My death really shifted your life’s trajectory hard, didn’t it?”

“It has been difficult,” Jaesa swallowed. “I... I’ve missed you, Master.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Kai’rene crooned sadly. “Tell me about it, would you? What happened after I died?”

“Well… I couldn’t stay with the Sith anymore. Not after they let your sacrifice be in vain like that. Vette couldn’t take it either; she left before the week was out. I left shortly afterwards. I tried to find her, but she had already disappeared. I wandered around aimlessly for a time before deciding I needed somewhere to recuperate. I didn’t have any real options after leaving the Sith, so I rejoined the Jedi. The war had hit them hard, there were only a handful left; so they were going to relocate to another world to rebuild.”

“Just like after the first War, when they moved to Tython.”

“Exactly. This time, they went to Ossus.”

“What?” Raya cried. “That’s a radioactive wasteland!”

“Yes. But it was an old Jedi world. It still had a large library there, and a collection of relics that the two surviving Consulars wished to reclaim. They thought that if a new generation of Jedi needed to be raised, a place with an ancient library was a good place to do it.”

“But…” she gesticulated, at a loss for words. “Was there really no other place in the entire galaxy? Ilum? Dantooine? Telos? Umbara, Iridonia, Dathomir, Lothal even! Heck even Taris would have been better, and that place has _Rakghouls_!”

“The routes to most of those worlds aren’t forgotten. Besides, the Republic tried to recolonize Taris, and the Sith demolished their efforts. No way would the Jedi head back in this lifetime.”

“Ughhh!” the Exile threw up her hands in disgust. “I surveyed Ossus three centuries ago, you know. That’s as hostile an environment as you can find, and it will remain that way for the next couple of millennia. Founding a colony there, especially to raise baby Jedi? Growing crops must be all but impossible!”

“It was,” Jaesa admitted. “And we needed to smuggle in supplies those first few years. But then, somehow we managed it. But every harvest is an uphill climb. I can’t imagine the Jedi will remain there much longer, especially since they were discovered.”

“Perhaps they should consider a world without former Jedi history then. Naboo perhaps.”

“Naboo is still remote,” Jaesa agreed. “I can pass the suggestion along.”

“Please.”

“Now about why you summoned me.”

“Right, let’s get to it!” Kai’rene clapped. Reflexively, Jaesa sat up straighter. “So here’s the basics: a short time ago, this shimmer of a Zabrak’s spirit appeared on the other side. By itself, nothing strange about that; people are always dying, right? Stronger ones do manifest in this same manner. But this time…”

“This time was different,” Raya took up the thread seamlessly. “This time, he left a disturbance in his wake. There is _never_ a disturbance in the world of the dead. Don’t get me wrong; it’s like an endless ocean, and like any ocean there are currents, both gentle and turbulent. Sometimes, the dead… remember the living world after a fashion, and the memory takes shape temporarily. But it always falls back into the tides, never lasting long. Things are always changing there, there’s no such thing as time or form or place. It’s not as static as this side. But almost paradoxically, the Force there is _never_ disturbed, despite all of that flux.”

Jaesa felt cold again. She had to restrain herself from fiddling with the heater controls. “What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Master Kai answered. “The disturbances are almost visible to us, like fraying flimsiplast. It warps and tears, like as though it is being affected by heat or pressure. A Force, of a corrupted kind. It has literally never happened before, and it is making us uneasy.”

“When Kai’rene says ‘Us’, she means the thousands of Force wielding ghosts who now call it home,” Raya explained. “Going back thousands of years. There are some truly old names among us who were disturbed from their rest. Something truly frightening is happening here, something affecting both sides, and it may leave an indelible mark on the Force itself if not dealt with. It is already manifesting on this side as well: I can Feel it. But since the problem is more pronounced in the other world for now, we felt a ghost might be necessary in this endeavor.”

“That’s where we come in,” Master Kai said, gesturing to herself and Jaesa. “You and I will team up to investigate these disturbances. We must do this as one.”

“I stand ready, Master. But what do you mean ‘do this as one’?”

“First off: Force Walking,” Master Kai grinned. “Akahte’s little party trick. We need to figure out how it’s done. Also, I may need to be in control from time to time, if you’re willing to allow that caveat.”

Jaesa beamed, happier than she’d been in years. “Actually Master, Joining my soul with yours, working together so closely—it’s like all of my dreams coming true at the same time!”

* * *

  
  



	4. Sparks to Flame

* * *

**The Planetary Shield Generator Facility, Dubrillion**

For the past four decades, the Shield Generator compound had been off-limits to anyone without the highest levels of clearance. And that was understandable: it was the most important military facility on the planet after all, its integrity was paramount to Dubrillion’s security. But recent events—namely the Eternal Fleet’s bombardment—had led to the facility being taken out of the King’s hands by the Senate.

Today there was a large congregation inside the main building; many were reporters and their camera crews, but there was also a Captain from the Republic Military, a representative of the Senate, several important Nobles, and their retinues. These VIPs stood on a raised platform at the wall on the opposite side of the door.

Lucrezia Tomms, special reporter with DubriliNext news, waited for the press conference to begin. She had six years of experience as a reporter, and was no stranger to patience. Just like many of the other reporters waiting around her.

But while the reporters from offworld were able to maintain their professionalism, most of the Dubrillion natives were as nervous as Lucrezia herself; Bidara—who had a friendly rivalry with Lucrezia right from their days at College—had taken several swigs from her flask already to steady her shaking voice. Lucrezia thought she appeared a little tipsy already, and considered telling her to go easy on the booze until the conference was done, but then the proceedings began and she lost her opportunity.

"Welcome, one and all,” the one to begin was Count Merritt, who sat at the center of the stage. “I thank you for coming here today. I’d like to introduce everyone here on the stage with me. This is Captain Horace White from Republic Military Intelligence.” The tall, tanned human soldier nodded. “And this is Representative Ahmedin al Safar of the Senate. As some of you might have guessed, we are here to talk about why Dubrillion was one of only four worlds to be such easy pickings for the Eternal Fleet. Representative Safar, if you please?” 

“Thank you, Count Rineld,” the ageing little investigator answered. “While the early warning from the Odessen Alliance was enough to allow almost every intended target of the Eternal Fleet’s bombardment from annihilation, Dubrillion became famous as the only major rich world to fail to deploy either its shields or its ground batteries. I am sure you have all spent weeks wondering why that was the case; ‘Was there a technical malfunction? Or sabotage, or incompetence?’ If only it were so. Hours ago, our investigation confirmed a story which had been given to us by Count Rineld.” He took a moment’s pause for effect.

“You were betrayed by your own King Actavarus III.”

“Allow me to continue, sir,” Captain White requested; his aide had already handed him the datapad at the start of the conference, summary typed out in neat order to list them efficiently for the waiting press. The Investigator nodded gravely and he stood straight as a flagstaff. “Shortly after the bombardment ended, the Senate received a high-priority message from Count Rineld. It contained footage from probes sent to investigate the Shield Generator. The nuclear power generators had been completely stripped down, including the fuel rods. Every last one of the expensive machines were likewise gone, along with all of the high-grade metals and ceramics needed in a facility like this. Even the Haysian smelt wires had been removed. In short, someone had taken the place apart until  _ literally _ nothing of value was left. That was new, even to us. Count Rineld’s conclusion was that the one behind the theft was the king himself, since no one else could strip down so much of the facility without his knowledge. He controlled it, after all, and quite strictly—as a good leader would during war—but with zero oversight. The King’s motive, the Count suspected, was self-aggrandizement. King Actavarus III used the money from the sale of these parts and more to fund his extravagant lifestyle. Naturally, such serious claims had to be investigated. 

“First thing we checked upon arriving was the security; The entire facility was guarded by a dedicated cadre of soldiers once, but around fourteen years ago, the King had reduced the number of organic guards to almost a fortieth of its previous size. Most of the security was now low-cost war droids. The few human guards left were not the brightest of people, easily deceived and complacent. But even they had no longer been permitted inside the facility, probably cuz you don’t have to be particularly observant to see that this—” he indicated the ransacked facility “—is not a working Shield Generator. The evidence of the King’s guilt all but jumped into our laps, the clean-up had been that sloppy. It just piled and piled and piled until we had a mountain of evidence to bury him under. For a time we suspected that it was too easy, too ready. That perhaps someone—” he shot Rineld a look “—had tried too enthusiastic a frame-up job. But we were able to dismiss that line of enquiry too. All of the evidence is bedrock solid, and supports the Count’s suspicions: King Actavarus sold out his people so that he could have a few extra luxury yachts. It's not just defenses that he's stripped. He has also stolen priceless artefacts, sculptures, and paintings from museums and galleries, replacing them with cheap forgeries. He has defunded science programs, public services, and scholarships. In short he has abused his position as king. Following with standard procedure, we have already presented all evidence to the Senate. Once they put their stamps on it, most of our documents will become available on the public portals for the media to see. We remind the press that some of this is sensitive information and will remain out of reach for the general public.” 

“We will take any questions you have now,” Count Rineld said.

The offworld networks weren’t shocked silent like the locals were; Kinoko Sharale of Nebcon raised her hand right on cue. 

“Miss Sharale,” Rineld prompted.

“What will become of King Actavarus III?” she asked. Lucrezia envied her. She and her peers from Dubrillion were… too upset. She herself had broken down in tears, as had many others. They had all lost family, loved ones, friends, homes, and property to the bombardment. 

Nevertheless, Lucrezia fancied she saw through her mask and thought that she was seething.

“Soldiers have been sent to arrest him and take him to Coruscant. He will be tried for treason. Once the trial is concluded, the Senate shall decide his fate.” 

“But the sentence for treason is death,” Kinoko continued. “With Actavarus dead, that would leave you as king.”

“Prince Consort,” Rineld corrected her. “The ruling Monarch would be Risha of House Drayen. It is her birthright, not mine, and I’ve no intention of undermining her; she’s competent, intelligent, and strong. And believe it or not, we both want what’s best for Dubrillion. It just so happens that our current King was the opposite of that. He always has been, though even we never suspected he would be this selfish.”

“Risha is a common criminal,” Kinoko pressed on mercilessly. “A smuggler, a thief, a pirate. Her father Nok Drayen was one of the most feared Underworld bosses for a decade before he disappeared. He was ruthless and cruel and power-hungry. By all accounts, the apple hasn’t fallen too far from the tree. You really want scum like that as Queen?”

“ _ You _ are cherry-picking your stories Miss Sharale,” Rineld frowned. “Risha helped save the Republic. She and her friend Captain Juun Stede were responsible for defeating the Voidwolf, and for dispersing the fleet of pirates he amassed to ambush Republic Warships. Without her aid, Corellia would have been in grave danger. It may have even ended as a Sith territory, or worse: another Taris. Isn't that your home world?" 

She bristled, but visibly restrained herself. 

"And if you must know she has been working tirelessly to keep the people fed following this disaster. She is personally overseeing food shipments and reconstruction efforts. She has been constantly communicating with the various kitchens and refugee camps, making sure no one starves. And let me remind you that there is a severe food shortage out there. What she has managed to secure for Dubrillion is nothing short of stunning! In short she’s a hero. It doesn’t matter what her Father was. And I'm certain there are many powerful leaders today who are ruthless. There is a war going on, in case you haven't noticed.”

Another reporter raised a hand. 

"Mister Barn." 

"Dubrillion is still vulnerable, even if your next monarch is the greatest person in the Galaxy. Have you taken any steps to ensure our safety?" 

"Yes we have," Count Rineld nodded. "The Odessen Alliance has offered some resources to help rebuild the shield generators. The model they're sending us is good, but they will not be the state-of-the-art technology that was here before. It will require power from local stations until we can get a dedicated power source for instance. It's still a lot they're giving us considering that they do not want anything in return."

"One would expect the Senate to be the one stepping up in our time of need," a reporter said loudly. Not to mention, out of turn. The Senate representative shifted in his seat. 

"We do not have the resources to spare," Captain White said grimly. 

"I didn't know that the Alliance had any overflowing shiploads of either," the belligerent reporter said. Louder this time. "And they sent us ships to defend us at the time. Now they're sending food and other emergency aid. While the Republic sends us nothing!" 

His fellow reporters stared at him for a moment, shocked by his breach in decorum. But then some were seized by the same anger and a furious debate began.

"Not nothing," another reporter piped up, raising his voice to be heard over the others. "They're aiding in removing a tyrant. Without them, the King would be hard to remove. We have their political support, their bureaucracy is still in place for us." 

"And what is that worth to us?" Bidara joined the fray. "That kind of help isn't going to feed us, or help us rebuild our lives!" 

"But the King sabotaged our Planetary defenses!" More were joining in, and it was becoming a shouting match. "If he was still left in charge don't you think he'd continue to look out for himself, maybe seize food shipments to sell on the black market?" 

"I can't believe even he'd do something this stupidly selfish!" "We need him gone now!" "But why stop there? We don't need any King or Queen! Down with the monarchy, down with the nobility!" 

Lucrezia listened to the growing debate fearfully. She was conflicted; her father had worked in the King's Gardens since the past forty years. She had met the King once, and he had been kind enough to her, right from her childhood. And when she had expressed an ambition as a journalist, he had been the one to sponsor her education, had ensured that she was the one DubrilliNext sent for any public celebrations and festivities hosted by the royal court. And he had never made any untoward advances on her, nor on any other men or women whom she had known him to sponsor.

True, he had expected their loyalty in return—that they speak in his defence when the occasion arose—but that was not such a bad thing. Almost every politician from any corner of the Galaxy cultivated a network of supporters among journalists, artists, and public personalities. 

But this—the deliberate stripping down of critical infrastructure—that was inexcusable. How many of her friends had died in the bombardment? How many had lost everything as their homes were burned along with all of their most priceless possessions? Such tragedies happened in war, but in this instance the devastation had been avoidable. The entire Galaxy had proven that, all but a tiny fraction of the assaulted worlds.

Count Rineld’s attempts to calm the room failed as the debate turned to shouting and fistfights.

Lucrezia raised a hand, trying to keep with protocol even if the rest of the room wasn’t.

“Yes, Miss Tomms?” Rineld asked. 

“Not a question, Count Rineld, an apology. Forgive me for all the times I stood against you and your wi—that is to say Lady… no.  _ Queen _ Risha. You’re right about how hard she is working for us, we’ve all seen it. I don’t think there’s going to be any coherent discussion here today.”

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “I… of course Miss Tomms. Erm. Captain White?” He was distracted by the aide who had run up to the dais, frantically holding up a report for him to see. “Is something the matter?”

The soldier nodded. “An attack. On Voss this time. Their shields were taken down, and the Eternal Fleet is already emerging from Hyperspace. The Supreme Commander’s office has sent out a call that all personnel return to their posts in case we are also attacked.”

The reporters quieted down sharpish.

“Why only Voss?” Lucrezia asked. “It’s a neutral world of little strategic importance!”

“I’m afraid we’re out of time for questions, Miss. We have to leave within the hour. Pray that the Fleet does not return here.” His soldiers were already packing up, guiding the Senate’s representative along with them.

“What?” Bidara shrieked. “You’re abandoning us?”

“No one soldier ever defended a world from an orbital bombardment,” he answered her. “And there’s nothing we can do to repair your defenses. A fleet might have been allotted for your defense in the meantime; I haven’t received word.”

“But… What about the King?” Lucrezia asked. “If you leave now without taking him into custody it might give him time to do... something!”

“He has barricaded himself into his stronghold. It will take a small army to dig him out. And we cannot provide you one right now. I’m sorry, truly.” He left as the room exploded once again, shaking off a suddenly red-faced Rineld who tried to accost him on his way out.

* * *

**Rineld’s Estate, Overlooking the Bunker**

Risha stood at the door to the shelter, watching as the people piled in. Many were worried, some outright scared. But luckily they were piling into the bunker in good order. Her people all over the world reported that most evacuations were going smoothly, with only some minor incidents. Fistfights, stampedes, stomping, shouting.

Not a single case of panicked looting, which Risha felt grateful for. Though what was there to be looted now anyway? Most of the world had already been reduced to rubble, with millions of credits worth of luxury goods now buried under tons of rubble. Few shops were even open anymore. 

And almost all of the critical supplies like food and medicine had been placed under strict lock and key. Free kitchens were keeping the people fed as best they could, and right now their best was good enough to keep people from outright starving. Which was something of a miracle—the current food crisis was much worse on Coruscant and Corellia and other major worlds, with curfews established to prevent riots.

“It’s going well, my Lady,” a nearby bodyguard remarked. “I don’t think many leaders could have managed such an orderly worldwide evacuation.”

“Thanks, but you’re being too kind,” Risha said. “Sarresh managed it on Taris, and Avesta on Makeb. Others have as well.”

“It’s a compliment,” Vette hissed through gritted teeth. “Take it.”

“Alright. Sorry Captain. Any word from my Husband?”

“He called to say he’s leaving shortly. He should be with us in the next three hours.”

“If the Eternal Fleet comes he’s better off where he is,” Risha shook her head. “That place has its own shelter. Taking off to return here is risky.”

“But his power base is centered here,” the Captain countered. “And something tells me that he… you…  _ we _ can’t stop working.”

Risha sighed and nodded. He was right of course. There was no telling how Actavarus would act in this unexpected respite. She put her mind to it right away: that fool loved assassins most of all, thinking that a few hired guns solved all problems. Security would have to be tightened not just around her and Merritt, but all of the Nobility and politicians. She might have to consider a hands-off approach until he was taken into custody.

Even as she thought this, a flash on the servant’s quarters’ roof drew her attention and old instincts had her moving before she could even think, ducking behind a heavy marble sculpture. Vette moved into action a split-second sooner, ducking behind the thick stone staircase and drawing her cutlass, but Risha’s guards were much slower to react. They stood there with their jaws on the floor as Risha screamed at them to move, but only the Captain moved in time to avoid the heavy fire that tore through his men. All twenty of them were shot down where they were standing. The smell of burning flesh was already filling the air.

“Grenade!” Vette screamed, and flattened herself against her cover. Risha had also seen the projectile, and rolled even farther away to avoid being in its blast radius, scrambling madly for the heavier statues of the garden when the Sonic Detanator’s screech tore through her the air.

Risha clapped her ears and screamed in pain but the damage was done. The boom had affected her inner ear—though not as badly as it might have if she had been in the epicenter of the blast. Nonetheless her senses of balance and direction turned to jelly. She tumbled down onto her knees and braced for the sniper to take aim at her again. 

They didn’t. Instead, five assassins with more daggers than sense leaped off their roof and closed into melee range. One of them broke her legs and simply crumpled where she lay, screaming. But the other four ran closer. One assassin closed in to finish the dazed Captain of the guard as his fellows made for Risha.

Risha struggled to regain her feet. She had fought away panic a hundred times before—she had lived a dangerous life after all—but today they had also successfully disorientated her. Snarling and coughing up bile, she reached for her weapons, only to find that she had dropped her knife. 

She levelled her blaster and tried to take aim, but her arms were so rubbery her shots went wide.

The lead assassin cackled mockingly, but his glee turned to shock when a rock which was probably bigger than his brain cracked into his head. Vette rose from her hiding place and ran screaming obscenities that she could only have learned from her Sith friend. Her feet fell light and sure on the ground: she had been far enough away from the blast to avoid the worst of the sonic scream’s effect.

The assassins seemed taken aback by her reckless charge. They must have been daft to forget about her. She swung her cutlass at the assassin she’d knocked down, viciously opening his throat. A fountain of blood spurted from his wound as he died. Without wasting a second, she refocused on her next opponent, the one closest to Risha.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” She screeched, and ran at her new target. This one, a tall Iridonian woman, bared her fangs as she turned to meet the new threat. Covered in blood and wearing an expression of utmost rage on her face, the little Twi’lek looked so deadly that Risha was a little intimidated.

The assassin, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff. She parried Vette’s attacks with her daggers. She ducked under a particularly vicious blow and tried to gut her smaller opponent but Vette nimbly leapt aside to avoid it, before darting back with another chop. The Iridonian seemed as surprised as Risha felt to see Vette’s skill, and her grin turned into a snarl as she met Vette’s blows. She called out to her comrades. “I’ve got this one: get the target!”

“NOOOOO!” Vette screamed, and kicked her enemy in the shin with enough force that she went down cursing.

Vette reached Risha just as the two assassins did, and ploughed into them. She rammed into one woman, who was thrown into the other assassin by Vette’s momentum. But despite the bullrush, she had managed to catch the small girl by the shoulders at the cost of dropping both her knives.

She kneed Vette in the face, breaking her nose. But Vette got back to her feet in a flash, and ran her through with her weapon. Unfortunately the weapon stuck in her dying opponent’s body, and Vette was forced to pick up the daggers she had discarded.

“Forget about me Vette!” Risha screamed. “Run!” But she knew what Vette was going to say.

“No! Not this time!" Oh she loved her for saying it, but she hated the thought of dying with her. And Risha could see that she was already tired, and hurt. Her face was swelling from the knee to the face—which had not been as bad as it could have been; perhaps Vette had cushioned the blow by jumping back as it landed—but still, it was hampering her vision. 

Risha was feeling a bit better now but she dared not open fire on Vette’s opponent for fear of hitting her oldest friend. She instead opened fire at the one whose shin the Twi’lek had broken, and was annoyed at having to fire off a dozen shots before one hit her chest. Even with a leg broken, the woman was a slippery eel.

In the time it had taken her to finish the assassin, Vette had closed in with the last one—a bulky male Cathar. She struck like a snake, attacking and recoiling in the blink of an eye. But her enemy for all his bulk, was no slouch either. Like his comrade, he had dropped his daggers in Vette’s charge, but hadn’t deigned to pick them up. Perhaps he only knew how to wield them against unarmed opponents. 

But he did know unarmed combat. He quickly got used to Vette’s rhythms, then slapped a knife out of one hand, then caught the other in his meaty fists. He squeezed, and Vette’s screech rang out as her arm broke. Her enemy released her arm, and struck her exposed side with a backhanded blow so powerful Vette shot seven feet into the air before falling back down.

Risha’s scream caught in her throat, and tears blurred her vision.

“Don’t worry,” the Cathar said. His voice was soft and gentle, like he was talking to a small child. “She might live.  _ You _ are my target after all. Everyone else—including my partners—are nothing. King Actavarus says hello. Any last words?”

Risha was too horrified to retort, her eyes pinned on Vette’s prone form. She thought her friend was still breathing, if only just. But she had taken quite a hit.

“Alright then.” 

He slammed his fist into Risha’s cheek. When she stopped rolling, he walked up to her—so slowly he might have been enjoying the scenery on some picnic—and kicked her in the stomach, and Risha found herself throwing up for the second time in less than an hour. Still moving slowly, he bent to pick up a dagger. He waited for Risha to stop retching, then grabbed her by the hair and yanked back her head, exposing her neck.

A loud crack rang out, echoing in the silence, and he fell dead, a gaping hole smoking merrily right between his eyes. A perfect shot.

“Stede,” Risha hissed. A few seconds later, the Smuggler jumped out from a window in the area that shot had come from. She ran straight for Risha, who shook her off and pointed her at Vette, still unable to speak much. Distantly, Risha could hear footfalls approaching, sounds which Stede ignored. Perhaps it was her own people, come at last to help. Had they really been this stretched thin?

The Smuggler cast her several lingering glances as she jogged up to Vette. She examined her before pulling out a Kolto injector from her bag. “She’ll live. Just like you.”

_ She’ll live! _ Risha thought giddily.  _ She’ll live. And I will too. _ She covered her face with a hand and sobbed. Today had been so close...

* * *

**The Generator Facility**

It took some time for the reporters to calm down, but none at all for the Republic soldiers to pull out. Displays of emotion ranged from angry screaming to loud sobbing and everything in between. It was over an hour before order was finally restored, more by fatigue than by anything else.

Count Rineld, who had been left dumbstruck for a while following his vain effort to convince the soldiers to call for reinforcements, returned to the stage. He looked afraid. “Well I do have some other news to give you all,” He said. “Not that it was necessary with the event being broadcast and all, but I put out the call, and all civilians have been moved to shelters and bunkers across the planet. Most of our foodstocks were already secured before, so… At the very least if SCORPIO tries to bomb us again they’re safe. Yes, they’re safe.”

Those were the last intelligible words he ever said, as a bomb went off under the platform that very second. Almost right underneath him. It wasn’t a powerful one, in fact it was so weak that the Count lived for several agonizing hours before finally succumbing to his injuries.

But the event had been broadcast live—several cameramen having forgotten to switch off their equipment, as had the telecommunications teams both onsite and back in their HQs. It was all broadcast, the explosion and all of those noises and sights that followed.

The sight of the podium erupting, of Rineld’s blood and limbs being scattered by the explosion, of the dust and rubble kicked up in the heart of what had once been the world’s most vital defensive structure in mockery of the bombardment it had failed to prevent.

The sounds of the dying Count piteously moaning in pain, of the reporters and cameramen and bodyguards diving for whatever they considered cover from further explosions as they screamed and prayed loudly to any person or entity or forgotten god that may be listening. It hadn’t been that long since the Eternal Fleet’s recent bombing, so even this parody of it was enough to break their spirits.

Only a pair of the Count’s bodyguards maintained enough of their nerve to follow their duty, and despite her terror Lucrezia watched in mounting respect as they tried to put the count’s body—now lacking one leg, and the other charred and smoking, and his entire lower body covered in burns and splinters—trying in vain to find that balance between care and speed as more of the Count’s blood spilled out from his injuries. Kinoko Sharale regained her senses quickly and raised her comm and tried to summon an ambulance, hindered by her own choked sobs.

Other offworld reporters also sprung into motion as the minutes ticked by, a few with first-aid knowledge trying to aid stabilizing the Count while the others sprang onto their comms, calling for security forces.

Some tried to tend to the stricken locals.

Weeping like a baby through it all, Lucrezia hated herself for not moving, for being paralyzed by her fear. She allowed Miss Sharale’s camerawoman—a Selonian woman named Chucnae Rulutyra—to coax her out of her refuge and lead her out of the facility comfortingly but quickly. As she left the building, she turned to give one last look at the dying Count. She struggled to recall how old he really was; he looked so young to her right now, only a few years older than she. Too young for his life to be cut short so quickly and cruelly. 

Fresh sobs broke out and she ducked her head back into Chucnae’s hug. She remembered suddenly his years of dedicated service to his subjects, and to Dubrillion. He had been a loyal son through and through, and could have done so much good if not for today. And she had no doubt he was going to die no matter how soon that ambulance arrived. It might not be anytime soon—he had said that he had just sent out word for emergency evacuation to shelters.

In the years that came, she would feel glad that at least she managed to apologize to him before he died. Not only did it assuage her conscience, her public apology allowed her to become one of Risha Drayen’s most trusted contacts in the days to come. And although it took her decades to realize it, her apology also saved her career.

* * *

**Rineld’s Estate, the Count’s personal Bunker**

Juun Stede watched Risha and her Twi’lek friend float in their tanks. Count Merritt was in the one next to Risha’s, and Juun had only needed a look to know that he could not be saved. Thankfully, Risha was sedated. She wouldn’t know of her husband’s death until she had recovered. It was a shame, Juun thought. Risha had liked the man, and Rineld had loved her.

In his own way of course. He had only ever had eyes for men after all. But he had made that clear to Risha from the very beginning. He had backed her bid to the throne because he had seen her potential as a strong and just monarch. His true love was Dubrillion however, and he had thought Risha worthy of ruling it, which had greatly moved Risha. 

His passing would no doubt affect her as badly as Nok’s had, over a decade ago. But Juun knew she would make it through, she always did.

No, the real question in Juun’s mind was how she should kill Actavarus. It wasn’t how Risha wanted to do this, but this was an emergency. The man had sent assassins after fifty nobles and politicians today. Many of the attempted assassinations had been public. Three had been so savage that they had led to stampedes. In the confusion, some of the civilians had gone off the rails and ransacked nearby depots, the guards set to watch them had been dead—murdered on the King’s orders, Juun was sure, and the door left open to encourage the looting. 

The King had gone off the deep end, and the longer he had, the worse this could get.

She picked up her comm, and hailed an old buddy of hers.

“Hello Captain. No smiles?”

“Hey Akaavi. Not today. I need your help storming a fortified castle.”

The Mandalorian’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me out on a date, Captain? You know I only like one-person kind of people.”

Juun sighed. “Please, Akaavi. The King has finally snapped. Risha was almost killed.”

“Fine, fine!” she said. “I’ll be there in seven hours. As it happens I already have a big pile of munitions I didn’t know what to do with. Make sure you have schematics of the palace ready.”

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Book 3, Chapter 10: Dying Embers:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/66435622


	5. Akahte's Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Book 3, Chapter 11: Home on Odessen  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/67665538

* * *

Sadly, performing a ritual you’ve only seen performed once is a lot easier said than done. And this one was so tricky Jaesa found it hard to believe that Darth Nox had mastered it on her first try.

And friends though she and Master Kai had been, this was one secret that she hadn’t shared. Not that her Master would ever have asked. She didn’t like ghosts much. Or rituals. Her focus was on more direct uses of the Force.

Jaesa tried to mimic that manipulation of Force, those hand signs, that arcane chant. That last was actually the easiest part since she had learned Archaic Sith, and had understood the words that time Nox had bonded that ghost on Yavin IV.

But after her fifteenth failed attempt, she threw up her hands in defeat. “It’s no good!” she vented. 

Her Master made a placating gesture. “It’s alright,” she cooed. “Maybe there’s more to the secret than just the Bonding dance.”

“If that’s true then our bantha is cooked,” Raya said. “Unless you can find her and persuade her to teach you. You did say that she’s on a closed-off world, right?”

“Yes, but luckily we don’t need to meet her. All we need is her Holocron.”

“Yay!” the Exile cheered less than half-heartedly. “And where is that?”

Master Kai’rene favored her with her widest smile. “Tatooine. She had a fortified secret base there. And I know the key code to get in.”

“Great. Let’s go then.”

“Master,” Jaesa spoke up hesitantly. “Knowing her, there may be some unspeakable horror set on guard there to utterly vaporize any trespassers. Having the key might not mean the same as being able to access her holocron. I think we should call and ask her first.”

“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Kai’rene said thoughtfully. “But remember, the odds of actually getting through are slim. Comms may be jammed. And if they’re not, the resistance might be on radio silence to avoid attention.”

She was right of course. Calls didn’t get through.

“Maybe we can radio Alliance HQ instead?” Jaesa said after an hour. “They might be able to get us through a secure channel.”

The one who answered was Theron Shan. 

_“Oh, it’s you Jaesa. Wasn’t expecting that. What’s your emergency?”_

“We need to talk to Darth Nox right away,” Jaesa explained. “We need access to some of her secrets.”

_“Jaesa, Akahte is on an occupied world ruled by a despotic super-intelligence. We can’t just make emergency calls without a whole lot of prep, it will endanger not only her, but the people in her base.”_

Before she could respond, Master Kai waved energetically at the cam. When Theron didn’t react to her, she muttered to Jaesa. “Tell him this for me: ‘Torrad, Corny, Veetor, Liima-Liima Two-Three-Three.’”

Jaesa obeyed and Theron was so surprised he jumped out of his seat. _“How do you know that authorization code?”_

“Master Kai is with me,” Jaesa answered. “In spirit, I mean. It’s that urgent.”

 _“Okay then,”_ Theron said, shaken. _“This is new. Never got a call from a ghost before. Stand by. I’ll patch you through.”_

The line went on hold, and Jaesa raised an eyebrow in her Master’s direction, who merely shrugged. “It’s not what you’re thinking. It was during the mess on Ziost, and we ended up working together for a bit. He needed me to get some equipment back from his shuttle, so he gave me that bird’s access codes. I am glad he remembered it.”

“I’m glad _you_ remembered it,” Jaesa smiled appreciatively. “That probably sped things up a bit.”

“It may not have been necessary though,” Raya said. “We could have just flown to this Alliance Command. Would have been easier to convince them that way. We didn’t even need an emergency, we could have just waited for the next scheduled check-in.”

“It’s better we cut corners where we can though,” Master Kai replied. “There’s always the chance that time runs out of our control.”

“I suppose so.”

The line picked back up shortly. _“I’ve got her on the other line,”_ Theron said somewhat unnecessarily. _“Just so you know, we’ll be observing and recording. Might be important”_

Darth Nox spoke up from. _“So what does Kai’rene want from me?”_

“Here’s the thing,” Jaesa said, spitting out the lines she’d been rehearsing the past ten minutes. “There’s been a disturbance in the Force, but on the _OTHER_ side.” The Twi’lek looked stunned. “Bad things are happening, and the Dead are nervous.”

“Restless, you can say,” Kai’rene interjected, and Jaesa dutifully relayed the bad pun.

“They’ve sent Master Kai to look into this, but we need to… well we need to Bond. We need your Force Walking ability, Dark Lord.”

It took a moment for Darth Nox to regain her composure. _“Are you telling me you want me to teach you Force Walking over a holocall? One that’s being recorded? Not only is that morbidly difficult, I want this secret forgotten, you know.”_

“No, Dark Lord. We’re headed to Tatooine. We hope to recover your holocron from there. We just needed to know if you have any protections in place that we don’t know about.”

 _“You want to access my holocron,”_ Akahte said wryly. _“How do you even know it’s there, Kai? That was a secret I didn’t share with anyone. Not even my Apprentices. It was meant to stay secret unless someone was guided there by the Force itself, although I suppose this counts as arcane guidance.”_

“That is a long story—”

 _“You_ guessed _.”_

“A very safe wager,” Master Kai said, Jaesa playing mouthpiece. “Tatooine was where you buried stuff. It’s where your past life ended.”

Akahte reacted peculiarly to that one; first an expression of clarity overtook her features, as though she had suddenly made a connection she had been missing for some time. Then shock and rage poured out of her in waves, and she had difficulty restraining herself. _“Sorry about that. Just realized something… How could I not have seen it?”_ she took a deep breath and gripped her arms in an effort to stop her shaking. Then she spoke in a distracted, rushed tone. _“Back to the topic. It’s fused to a dais in an alcove, you’ve got to unlock it. Need is important, you can’t be taking it purely to take over the Galaxy or wipe out the Sith, or something like that. You have to know that it’s urgent, if not the last resort. You also need to recite this verse in Old Sith, three times: ‘_ The Dead sleep lightly, they await the call to arms, and a Warden comes to sound it. The four winds are frozen with fear' _. Remember that’s in Old Sith, not Archaic or Early Modern. Say it wrong and the count resets. Say it wrong four times and a sand hssiss forms with the holocron at its core. It will burrow out of the shrine and find a new place to hide.”_

She cut off abruptly, leaving Jaesa, Theron, and Kai’rene all baffled by her unexpected reaction.

* * *

Akahte stumbled out of the command tent, pushing past Carmen and heading straight for her tent. She was proud of herself; she managed to duck into the fresher before she finally vomited. 

She then broke into sobs, interrupted by further retching and hacking coughs. She ignored the Brig General’s voice asking to come in, and Vaylin’s terrified Pull across their Link. She was unable to face either woman right now. Unwilling to.

How long had she stared it in the face without her realizing it? Why had she ignored her instinctive dislike of that man until now? 

She sobbed, sobbed like she hadn’t in over a decade, not since the dreaded explosion tore through the space station, and years of her life with it.

But she couldn’t do anything now, could she? If she moved against him, then she would be moving against the Alliance. And worse—much worse—she’d be breaking her promise to Vaylin. 

She could sense Vaylin’s indignation, her hurt. _You promised me!_ She seemed to say.

Sobbing, coughing, and retching a few more times, Akahte melted into Vaylin’s psychic embrace. She Sent her pain, her shock, to communicate her current state to Vaylin, for they couldn’t truly speak across this distance. Not unless something was amplifying their bond.

All she could do was convey her emotions, and seek her Vaylin for solace from the pain.

And all the while she tried to ignore little Sef staring accusingly at her.

* * *

Aboard the Shuttle, Jaesa and the ghosts were quiet for a time.

“Think she’ll be alright?” Raya asked.

“She will,” Master Kai said with certainty. “She’s the strongest person I know. I’ve seen her survive some deadly shit in her day. Even if it can break her, it won’t finish her. Doesn’t stop me from feeling bad about it though… It was something I said, I’m certain. About her past being buried.” She bit her lip in worry. 

“Setting course for Tatooine,” Jaesa said. “Is it okay if I go to sleep? I’m tired from all those attempts.”

* * *

**War Room, Alliance HQ** **  
** **Odessen**

Lana watched the recording for the fifth time. It was alarming to hear about the disturbance over on the Other Side, but right now, her instincts screamed at her to not ignore Akahte’s horrified reaction. 

Perhaps she was worried. That woman had endured all of Arcann’s abuses with scathing laughter and dry wit. Anything that affected her like this had to be something terrible.

Vaylin was also here. She’d begged to watch this. Begged. They had a Bond too, Lana realized, but one that wasn’t nearly as strong as hers with her husband. For she could not make out nuances over this distance. They could not Send thoughts the way Arro and Lana could from other sides of the Galaxy.

Jaesa was relaying Kai’rene’s words. _“A very safe wager. Tatooine was where you buried stuff. It’s where your past life ended.”_

Akahte’s reaction was immediate. The expression on her face that screamed “AHA!” Something had been bothering the Sith for a long time, and she hadn’t realized what. But the answer had been on the tip of her tongue. It had taken just a few choice words for her to make the connection. They key was in Kai’rene’s words.

“Tatooine.” “Buried stuff.” “Past Life.” “End.” “Tatooine.” Tatooine. Tatooine… Something had happened on Tatooine, Lana remembered from her file, all those years ago… It was coming back to her now.

Lana cursed silently. Mindful of Vaylin’s presence, she maintained her composure outwardly. Eventually, she excused herself and walked over to the barracks for a quick conversation with Colonel Queens. She did not like what he had to tell her.

She then began to search for Theron, finding him in the Cantina. She pulled him aside urgently, leading him to the privacy of the Officer’s Lounge.

“Careful, or Arro might get jealous!” Theron commented. 

“You have to send a priority message to Jorgan,” she whispered. “Get him the FUCK off Zakuul any way you can. He’s in grave danger.”

“Errr, in danger?” Theron asked skeptically. “Not just on the account of being at the center of SCORPIO’s Empire?”

“This is urgent,” Lana insisted. “And it’s not SCORPIO we should be worried about. It’s Akahte. Darth Nox.”

“Why?”

“Tatooine. I remembered an old file on Akahte, back from my days with Darth Arkous. The bombing of Space Station Phar Cresh. Bad intel led a team of Republic Black Ops to destroy a Space Station. Aric might have been involved.”

“And?”

“Akahte’s entire family, including her son, died in that explosion.”

* * *

  
  



	6. The Beera Pot Plot

  
  


* * *

**Dubrillion, a hundred kilometers from the Royal Palace and closing fast**

Hirome Balaten stroked the edge of his heavy-bladed Sandbar Knife for the gazillionth time since getting on the transport. He observed his reflection on the back of the unsheathed blade, making sure that he looked  _ just _ right here today. The perfect curls on the ends of his shoulder-length caramel hair, just the right amount of bounce on those locks, skin gleaming from the thorough scrubbing, and the smooth cheeks from his perfect shave. Wasn’t everyday that he got called onto a crew that had  _ three _ of his lovers, and he hoped to be part of his wildest victory celebration yet if he could. He had been part of many crews over his long career as a mercenary, but this had to be the weirdest one. 

His lovers for one thing. Captain Juun Stede, who’d called the bunch together. The Togruta Jedi Sumalee, who wouldn’t stop throwing those sexy glowers at him—something she only ever did as foreplay before the main event. And Beryl Thorne, whose surprise to find him there had seemed a little too exaggerated—he was the best of the best among the Smuggler’s Moon Bounty Hunters’ Guild after all, creme de la creme! He had walked into and out of hundreds of firefights without so much a stray singe on his gold-plated armor!

For another, there was the makeup of this motley crew. A Mandalorian, and a Jedi? What a hoot! The aforementioned Mando was the red-skinned Zabrak Akaavi Spar who probably liked his armor and arsenal more than the exquisite specimen of beauty wearing it all. Improbably, she had a new partner with her, a girl even shorter and slimmer than he was, with beautiful slanted eyes and a bunch of cybernetics on her face. She had a small Elite Watchman blaster on her hip, and while he didn’t doubt her ability to use it, he knew she was a master slicer by watching her obvious familiarity with electronics. She was pretty too. Damn, Juunie really did love packing her teams with gorgeous, dangerous people; in other words, people who were exactly his type.

Which brought him to the last member of the crew: a tall human who had introduced himself as Daerren Peregrine. Not only was he gorgeous as fuck, he had the most intricately sculpted muscle on that body—something he had shown off while donning the bodysuit and armor Juunie had given him. Despite not having brought his own gear to the table, he seemed to know his way around the compact Sniper rifle that he was now busily inspecting. Perhaps he was a retired soldier? Many of them had put away their weapons after Zakuul had steamrolled both sides five years ago.

The Royal estate was visible on the horizon, looming larger with every second, and the occupants of the dropship went about performing their final checks on their kits. A disjointed chorus of beeps and bops filled the small passenger compartment as fresh blaster packs were loaded and safeties disengaged. Akaavi helped Daerren strap a jet pack onto his armor and gave him a helmet. Sumalee pressed the release on the doors and they opened.

Strong yelled into the cockpit. “Remember my request Stede. That shitbag King is mine!”

“Sure thing champ. Watch our backs today and you’ll get your payback.”

The human nodded and donned his helmet. “Morituri te Salutant!” he barked before stepping out the dropship like he was diving off, and Sumalee closed the door behind him. As soon as the cabin was resealed and silent again, the ship began to lose altitude, as though it was making to land here. When it was ten feet off the ground—and out of sight of long range scanners—it resumed its approach at much higher speed.

“Interesting guy!” Hirome remarked once the ship was on course again. “Where’d you find him?”

“He came to me. He heard that the beera-pot scum had targeted his ex-wife. Vette, Risha’s Twi’lek best friend. Reached out to me hoping I was putting together a crew to take the King down. I thought it’d be nice having a guardian angel looking over my shoulder for a change.”

“What does he do?” Sumalee asked. “I was meaning to ask, but he looked so intense I thought he’d explode if I prodded.” 

“He’s one of the finest snipers out there, with a surprise bonus: jetpacks. His speciality is jet-sniping.”

Spar whistled. “That is a niche skillset.”

Juunie laughed. “Oh yeah! And he's best of the best. The guy’s a sportsman though, rather than a soldier. He’s won nine gold medals in various events this past fifteen years. Some of those are like the Great Hunt, but where you shoot game animals scurrying about in dense terrain while you’re whizzing about the open sky. The gap between him and second place is always ridiculous margins. This will be the first time he’s shot at sentients.”

“And  _ that _ was the man Vette married?” Beryl asked appreciatively. “Wonder how they met? When she was with Prowle, maybe?”

“Save the story for another time,” Spar grinned. “ Preferably when there’s a few dozen barrels of  _ tihar _ to make the telling more interesting. We’re getting closer.”

“Okay then. Get ready for the plan,” Juunie announced. 

“Plan?” Sumalee asked, arching an eyebrow. “You never use plans. You just find a good spot to camp out in, crack open a beer, and open fire.”

“That’s a plan too,” Juunie scowled. “Sorry it’s not one of those complicated Jedi game plans or something. Now shush, this case is different—” she glared angrily “— _ Just _ this case! Mako hacks the security system and locks guards in the corridors and elevators. Hero boy, you watch her back. Mako’s quite a good shot, but you’re a one-man trainwreck.” Hirome grinned at her use of his nickname. He nodded encouragingly at Mako, who—clearly having picked up on the other women’s expressions of dislike—gave him a dirty look. 

“Rest of us; we’re assaulting his vaults. Specifically, Beera Pot’s collection of fine vintages. The man’s a fucking coward, but he will run to us if we threaten his precious booze.”

“Beera-pot and booze?” Sumalee arching a painted eyebrow at the Captain. “How about that? Your funny nickname finally becomes… you know...  _ actually _ funny.” 

Juunie spun around with a surprised look on her face—as if she hadn’t considered it—and almost fell off her seat laughing.

“Hey hey hey hey! Eyes on the road!” Beryl screamed “Or just let me take the wheel right now! 

“It’s yours,” Juunie gasped, struggling to catch her breath, and the other woman took over the controls.

“By the way,” Berry said. “I’m the getaway pilot. Which means I get to choose which ones of you stay behind as our unfortunate sacrificial lambs today.” She threw a quick, dirty look at Hirome who grinned. She always talked like this, but her apparent disgust did not stop her from eventually finding her own way to his bedroom. As a rule, he didn’t pester anyone who flat-out said they weren’t interested. But neither Berry nor Sumalee had ever said so.  _ EVER _ . And despite their love of glaring at him, neither woman had any problems with him once the initial mandatory dislike phase was over. And once they were in bed with him, they usually woke up beside him the next morning wearing the most pleased of cheshire smiles. He’d never been on the same world as two of these women, much less three. He really hoped they were as excited as he was behind their heavy scowls. 

The only one who didn’t scowl at him was Juunie, and for that alone he had a soft spot for her. Also, she was probably more into steamy celebrations than he was. She smiled despondently though.

“I should have mentioned before, sweet thing. One of my friends just died, so I can’t join you in any celebrations this time!”

That sobered him up fast. “Who died?”

“Risha’s husband, Merrit. He was a Nobleman—” she crinkled her nose at the term. “—but he was good people. I really am sorry that he’s gone.”

“I understand, Juunie; I’m not made of stone. No celebrations. But I am here if you need me as a friend, you know that, right?”

“Always.” She grinned. “I only reached out to people I absolutely trust for this job.” Mako looked over at that, eyebrows raised. Juunie’s comm chimed right then and she ducked away to the back of the shuttle to answer it.

She spoke too softly to be heard, and since no one else tried to speak up again the next couple of minutes were quiet. Berry cleared her throat uncomfortably to break the silence. “We’re almost there guys. Don’t die.” 

A voice spoke up over the comms. “ _ This is the Royal Palace Air Traffic Tower calling unidentified speeder. You are not authorized to approach. Slow down  _ now _ or we will open fire _ .”

“Akaavi?”

“All over it,” the Zabrak called. She had tethered herself to a rail and hefted an automatic grenade launcher as the door opened beside her. She leaned out of the open door and emptied the extra-large magazine on the outer perimeter, screaming with laughter all the while. “SAY HELLO TO SQUISHY, YOU SQUISHY BASTARDS!”

The King who had stripped the planetary shields had been smart enough to keep the Palace shields functional, but they had been damaged during the recent bombardment. They hadn’t been designed to withstand that kind of firepower after all. Shells and incoming ships, not turret fire, was what they had been designed to withstand. 

Which meant that the only defense the palace still had was the turrets. Most of which were quite exposed without the Palace Shields. 

Fireballs blossomed all over the walls as the incendiary grenades smashed into enemy entrenchments and landing pads. The guards manning them scrambled out of the way, and Hirome fancied he could hear them screaming. 

But then the shuttle landed, and it was time to rumble.

* * *

Sumalee left the transport first, repulsing all incoming fire with her twin green lightsabers. Akaavi and Juun followed right after, firing off explosives and abuses in equal measure, and few guards even bothered to stand before them. As soon as the last guard got through the gate, a sentry tried to close it, but a single bolt came down from the sky and went clean through his head. More shots rained down—one of the high velocity piercing rounds, a particularly heavy one that tore through flesh and bone and left large, messy holes in the targets.

Mako felt nauseated, and more than a little impressed. She squinted up at the sky, trying to see if she could spot the marksman, and couldn’t. Not even with her cybernetics. Was he that far away? He really  _ was _ jetpack-sniping! That was brilliant! How did he do it? She’d been all over Hutt space fifty times at least, and she’d never seen anything like it!

Their shuttle flew off and made straight for the west gate, as though it were dropping off more invaders on the other side. Soon as it left, the small man in the obscenely polished armor left the rock they’d hidden behind. He ran in a low crouch, a tiny blaster in each palm as he scanned the area for threats. He made straight for the maintenance hatch outside the perimeter and dived in. Mako followed closely, keeping low to the ground like her bodyguard. He waited next to the sealed door, guns pointed in case it opened, while she made straight for the door’s control panel. 

As she worked, she waited for him to speak. Wisecracks. Flirting. Casual probing. Anything. But he didn’t say a word until the door started to open. 

“That was fast,” he said, sounding genuine in his praise.

“Thanks!” she answered.

He grinned before diving into the opened doorway firing several shots as he rolled. A few muffled cries emerged before he spoke again. “All clear!” “Cool!” she called back.

He took the lead in the tunnel, ducking and rolling around corners in case of guards. There were none—the rest of the tunnel was completely unguarded, which freed her head enough to consider him for a moment.

She was mildly surprised by how little he spoke. The way Beryl and Sumalee kept shooting him those dirty looks, she figured he was one of  _ those _ kind of men: the raging hormones. Like that one doctor she’d been forced to work with a decade back, that Archiban Testosterone Kimble. That one certainly had been as good a doctor as he had claimed, but she’d have settled for someone with half his talent if they weren’t the self-obsessed flirts. He’d kept up that incessant bragging throughout the stay-silent mission, and at the end, Dust had kicked out his teeth and shot him in both knees. “Good thing you’re a doctor, eh?” he’d sneered as Kimble rolled around, screaming in pain. 

She’d heard later that he had worked with the Jedi Knight Arro, who had supposedly been too glad to see the back of him.

At first she’d thought this particular gunman to be like that. 

_ I mean, look at how obsessed he is with looking good! _

But this one had a “work mode”, clearly. 

She hoped he wasn’t like Dust either. That one had been a brutal, heartless mercenary. She would have left the Besalisk’s side long before he was finally killed, but they’d often had large bounties on their own heads; being on his crew meant having his protection. If there was one good thing about him, it was that he looked out for his teammates. Only while they  _ were _ a team, unfortunately. Once a teammate left, he wouldn’t care if they didn’t make it out the door.

Once Supreme Chancellor Jenarius had lifted that last, petty-vengeance bounty, she had left Dust and never looked back. And he hadn’t sought her out either.

Well, whatever kind of thug he was, Balaten sure did smile a lot! 

But she had to stop her ruminations, for a few twists and turns later, they’d reached the ladder. Balaten went first, and when Mako emerged she found that they were just outside Security Central Control. And five guards rested on the ground with smoking holes in their chests.

_ Jeez, they’re not even wearing armor, are they? _ It was surprising that the King would skimp out on his own security’s armor even if he did strip the shields while laughing maniacally. __

“Considering he’s a King, his security’s shit” he said, sounding a little suspicious as he led the way up the stairs. “Or maybe it’s a trap. I don’t like this.” He opened the large door on the top floor, revealing the Main Computer just beyond.

“Maybe they took the bait too well?” Mako started as she got into the seat. She looked at the camera feeds and nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. What a buncha greenhorns. They realised their mistake though; a dozen more are returning, and they seem better equipped. You’ll need to watch my back.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” he replied. “I’ve got this, you can concentrate on your job.”

“Sure,” she said shortly as she began the task of tripping up security at every possible turn.

* * *

Sumalee—once a Jedi Knight, now just a freelancer with a conscience… and two gray-bladed Lightsabers—ran a dozen steps ahead of her old friend, protecting her and Akaavi Spar from blaster bolts. It wasn’t particularly hard. Though there were over a hundred of them, these people weren’t the highly effective Sith or Zakuulan troops, they were common estate guards, and poorly motivated, poorly trained ones at that. They fired wildly, panic boiling over at the mere sight of her blades—it was clear they had never been up against a lightsaber before. Perhaps they’d never even  _ seen _ one before.

And though they were only facing three enemies, all three women were war veterans; between the three of them, they’d made their bones on a hundred worlds, killed thousands of seasoned soldiers, stared death in the face thousands of times. Impressively for a Force-blind, Juun had even killed two Sith Lords.

These common guards were inexperienced. Only one in every twenty shots came close to endangering either woman. Juun’s and Akaavi’s shots on the other hand always struck a target. Most of these targets were armored, but the ex-Privateer’s pistols were disruptors, with a penetration power almost as high as a lightsaber’s. And Akaavi was still using the grenade launcher. 

Any guard who got on their flank was instantly shot down by the vengeful angel in the sky. Within moments, over two-thirds of the guards were lying dead on the floor, and this was enough to completely shatter their morale; the rest turned tail and bolted.

Juun spat profanities and continued to fire on the fleeing guards, who now dropped like flies. Despite her sudden barrage though, some made it to the safety of the Palace. Juun seemed ready to chase the fleeing guards into the estate when Sumalee caught her. 

"Don't forget the plan," she cautioned. 

The Smuggler looked mutinous for a moment before relenting. "Oh fine! Vault's this way!" She turned and began jogging. "Hey Daerren? Any one of them sticks their head out of a door or window, you take it clean off, you hear?" 

“What’s that about?” Akaavi asked, but jogged ahead grumpily when Juun stayed silent.

Sumalee followed, wondering what on earth could have happened to have earned the woman's wrath. 

_ Didn't she get a call before we landed? What the hell did it say? _

"Hey, Captain. Slow down. Care to tell me what’s gotten into you?" 

She snarled in response. "No time. Vault, remember?" 

"Please, Captain. You've gone into berserk mode, and I need to know that it's not  _ you _ that needs to be stopped right now." 

The dark-skinned woman stumbled and shot a stunned look at her. For a moment she looked ready to talk, but then she just grimaced and continued on her way.

* * *

Mako had complete control over the system in less than half a minute. Practice really did make perfect. Having top-of--the-Line cybernetics helped too. And speaking of practice, she learned to work in stressful environments way back when she was a teenager, working odd jobs with Braden, but it was her years with Dust that had perfected her concentration obsidian sharp.

She barely heard the sounds of blasterfire, explosions, and cries of pain coming in from the hallway, Instead, she focused on reducing the number of active enemies her own way: sealing doors, cutting power to turbolifts and lights, and jamming all comms but her teams’ and the King’s. It didn’t take her very long at all to completely finish up her assigned tasks, so she moved over to her personal one: sating her curiosity. She wanted to know more about this King, like how he had gotten so much of his luxuries. Like that stunt he’d pulled with the shield generators just so that he could buy a yacht. There was also the off-chance of finding some useful information in his databanks, like stuff about active bounties. Incriminating correspondence that she might leverage for favors with some of her contacts.

She quickly speed-read through a decade of his transactions information, shocked at just how much of the planet’s assets had been pawned away just for more of his precious luxuries. Paintings, statues, antiques, precious metals and gemstones, high grade technology… anything was fair game so long as they weren’t his personal possessions, but Dubrillion’s. Some of this was known, of course, but the scale the man had worked on left Mako feeling stunned. This man had allowed Hutts to replace over seventy per cent of the world’s assets with forgeries. An entire gallery of the world’s most famous art and sculptures had been sold out just to sponsor his liquor collection, the same one the Captain was using as bait. And worst of all, he had essentially agreed to sell the entire planet over to the Hutts. Chances were good that they’d come to take over, as they had with Makeb.

The man may be evil, but he’s also a kleptomaniac, she realized. The sort that not only needed months of rehab, but would also need a minder looking over his shoulder to see that he didn’t relapse. Problem with despots though, was how they hated oversight.

Hated it so much that the second he lost control, he paid assassins—many of whom weren’t very competent— to kill all of the nobility on this planet. But she was surprised when she saw names of people who’d been marked for death, who  _ weren’t _ presently living on Dubrillion. People who didn’t even have any interest in Dubrillion’s politics. People whose only crime was to know, or even be close to, his enemies here. 

Risha Drayen especially. Anyone and everyone she knew had been marked. There was a long list of former associates and friends, including…  _ oh shit _ . 

But right then the most dangerous piece of information appeared on the screen: a message. From one of his… buyers. Otarga the Hutt. She grew increasingly worried as she scanned its contents. It was about the King’s loss of control of his world, which the Hutt considered her personal asset. Her message came with an ultimatum. Mako’s blood ran cold.

She keyed her comm. “Hey Akaavi? We have a  _ major _ problem.”

_ “Yeah, I know. Get ready to pull out.” _

* * *

Despite her rage, Juun’s expression as she walked into the Vault was one of awe and trepidation. She was a smuggler at heart, after all, and she knew quality goods when she saw them. These were the sort of things she used to ship illegally to her clients in her early days. Walking into a vault full of premium quality goods like this… it was like walking into a shrine.

Small wonder she looked like she was trespassing on hallowed ground.

Sumalee coughed loudly and Juun jumped. 

“Right,” she said. She picked up a bottle nearby that she judged was valuable enough and stepped outside the vault. She then keyed her wrist mounted comm, and the line picked up immediately. It was the King, who’d found his escape route sealed remotely. He was all but trapped inside the Palace. He was distraught, his expensive hat crushed in his hands, his bald head so sweaty he appeared to have been drenched in a storm.

_ “Please!” _ he sniveled.  _ “What do you want? Money? Power? I’ll give you everything I have, you can have my palace, my whole world! Just… please just let me go.” _

Huh. That slicer girl was damned effective! Maybe they hadn’t needed to use bait after all, they already had him trapped.

“We’re well past that, Beera-pot,” Juun snarled. She held up the vintage bottle. “Look what I have here... “ She held it up for a moment, long enough for him to register it. Then she hurled it against her feet and shattered it.

The King squawked like a chicken.  _ “That was priceless, you uncultured boor!” _

“I’m going to break all of them. One at a time. Unless you come out here, beside your booze vault.”

He reverted to frightened imbecile.  _ “Please, don’t kill me. You can… you can have my collection!” _

“I won’t kill you. Come out now. Or I break more of your precious bottles… dammit you don’t care about that as much as I thought, do you? Very well. If you don’t come out we’ll lock down the estate and then you can  _ starve _ to death.”

The King looked defeated.  _ “Very well. I am coming.” _

After she’d cut the call, Akaavi sneered. “Normally this is the point where I tell you what a dishonorable cheat you are for lying like that, but I’m not even going to try anymore.”

“You could have left me any time you wanted to if it hurts you that badly.”

“I do get to shoot a lot more things when I’m with you. More explosions too. Still, execution isn’t your style, Captain.”

“Well  _ I’m _ not going to kill him. Daerren is.”

“Then why is it that you’re the one rampaging around like an angry Darth right now? What aren’t you telling me?” 

Juun was silent for a moment. “You deserve to know this Kavi. Right before we landed I got a message from Corso. Jerre’s dead. His whole family is, including Juunie Junior. Beerapot just killed my baby brother.”

* * *

  
  



	7. The Beera Pot Plot- II

* * *

**Chandrila, Yesterday**

Jerre Kraot—one time hero, ace combat pilot, crack shot, and smuggler, current entrepreneur, husband, and father of three—awoke to find himself on the floor. Even to his own years, his groan sounded pitiful and weak. He could not open his eyes no matter how hard he tried, and his nostrils were inundated by the acrid smoke. A high-pitched ringing sounded in his ears, and he dully realized he was concussed.

How? What had happened? They had all been in the kitchen, cooking a scrumptious roast to commemorate his and Cedonia’s eighth-year anniversary. Alan—carefully supervised by his nanny droid—had been cutting some carrots and apples. Mark was playing his music box intently, listening to the chime-like notes as though they were the most beautiful things in the galaxy. Cedonia had been cradling their daughter Juunie.

Everyone had been so happy, so animated; joking and playing and singing. And then the crash of glass; something hurtled through his window at a high speed. He was thrown off his feet, hit his head against something round and hard, and his lights had gone out.

They’d still not come back.

He probed his face. His right eye seemed fine but his left—

Whimpering and sobbing, he began calling out to his family. 

“Ceddy!” he croaked. “Mark! Alan! Juunie… Anyone. Please?”

There was no answer. 

Fearing the worst, he began crawling forward, trying to feel his way to any of his family. To wake them. They’d just been knocked out, he knew it. If he could just find them, they’d be able to get away before whoever it was came in to finish the job.

“Cedonia… Alan… Mark…”

Something fell with a rough thump in front of him and he braced for another explosion. When none came, a horrible thought struck him and he reached out with trembling fingers.

They found soft flesh. Full cheeks, lush hair, pillowy lips, all of which he was intimately familiar with after years of marriage.

No…. “Ceddy…” he whimpered. “ _ Ceddy! _ ” 

A voice leered across the room, and if the darkness around him could have a voice, it would have sounded exactly like this mechanical baritone. “She’s gone, kid. I’d say I was sorry, but who’d ever believe me?”

That voice… he knew that voice.

“You… you’re dead!”

“If I am, then what does that make you?” 

“My children,” Jerre begged. “Mark, Alan, Juunie…”

“Dead too. Cooked through. Killed ‘em before you woke. None of em suffered, I gave ‘em that much.” he paused. “You named your girl Juunie, eh? Seriously? A galaxy full of stellar role models and you name your daughter after the scum who sold her own children for starship fuel?”

“That wasn’t what happened…”

“Of course she’d say that,” the gunman answered. “She loves acting like a hero. Ultimately though, she’s scum. Just like me.”

“I’m no better,” Jerre lamented. “I couldn’t even protect my family.”

“To be fair,  _ no one _ can protect their families if  _ I’m _ the one hired to kill them.”

Jerre sobbed. “Go on then. Do it, you filthy scum.”

“That’s it?” the voice sounded amused. “You aren’t even gonna ask me who sent me?”

“I’ve a pretty good idea,” he spat out. “I heard about what’s happening on Dubrillion. But… didn’t think he’d go this far for me.”

A monotonous laughter filled the air. “You  _ do _ understand some things, don’t you? Goodbye Kraot.”

A quartet of blasters fired and Jerre felt pain explode on his jaw, his stomach, his chest, and between his eyes. Everything was already dark but it went blacker.

* * *

**King’s Estate, Dubrillion. Currently**

“You deserve to know this Kavi. Right before we landed I got a message from Corso. Jerre’s dead. His whole family is, including Juunie Junior.The King sent his assassins after him simply because he worked with Risha that one time.”

“So it’s revenge, is it?” Akaavi asked. “Revenge I can understand. All too well.”

Juun spun around and faced her. “That’s it? Aren’t you angry? I thought you liked Jerre!”

The Zabrak stared down her colleague, unfazed. “I did like him. He was a good kid. Galaxy really is a shitty place, people like him die, and scum like you and me get to live.”

Juun looked gut punched at being called scum by someone she considered a close friend. “Well, after today, there’s gonna be one scum less in the shitty Galaxy.” 

The King emerged from the Palace, hands held high above his head. A gang of weepy-faced guards followed after, arms raised likewise. They looked like children, defenseless and scared. But for once, Juun wasn’t fazed. 

The King spoke in a tremulous whimper. “Please… I came out like you asked. Will you let me live?”

“ _ I _ will. But you will  _ never _ trouble the galaxy again.”

For a moment he looked relieved. But in the next he was instantly felled by what looked like a serrated shot, which struck him in a foot. He fell to the floor screaming, while his guards fell whimpering, throwing their hands even straighter up in the air.

The King continued screaming until a figure wearing a jetpack dropped out of the sky right in front of him, cowing him into silence. 

“This is for  _ Vette _ , you  _ sonofahuttgoblin, _ ” he snarled and shot him in the gut. The King squealed like a stuck piglet before keeling over.

Damn, was that  _ it _ ? The way this pretty-boy had just shown up and demanded the right to kill him, Juun had been expecting a show. She cursed under her breath and marched up to him. 

The King that is.

Then she picked up one of his guards’ fallen blasters and jammed the gaping hole in his belly with it. He screamed again.

“WHY, YOU FUCKING POTA BEER?” she screamed. “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL JERRE? WHY DID YOU KILL MY LITTLE BROTHER? WHY DID YOU GO AND MURDER HIS FAMILY? WHY COULDN’T YOU LEAVE AT LEAST THE GOOD PEOPLE TO LIVE IN PEACE?”

Setting the gun to stun, she fired point-blank into his exposed intestines. He gasped, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. Tears streamed down his increasingly pale face and a sickly smell filled her nostrils so heavily that she had to fight a powerful wave of nausea.

The guards lying on their bellies behind him sobbed with their faces pressed into the dirt.

Beside her, Daerren cursed. “He  _ killed…  _ Your brother? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have let you…”

“She didn’t know,” Akaavi told him in an undertone. “She only got the news once you’d left the transport.”

“WHY DID YOU ORDER HIM KILLED?” She demanded, her own cheeks now running with tears. “GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK. PLEASE!”

She fired the gun into his belly a few more times, cooking him alive from the inside, and he passed out from the pain.

She screeched like a banshee.  _ This wasn’t nearly enough! Not by a longshot! _

She dropped the borrowed blaster—which was now covered in gore—and unholstered her own twin disruptors. Then she proceeded to execute all the guards crying softly behind him.

* * *

Daerren spoke something too soft for Sumalee to hear, and the King’s face drained of its last dregs of color when. Then he shot the King at point-blank range in the stomach and walked away, leaving him to die a slow, painful death.

Sumalee winced, but managed to not say anything. Even if the Jedi Order wasn’t dead, she wasn’t one of them anymore. No sense in clinging to its morals.

_ Then why do you still carry your Lightsabers? _ Master Surro’s voice whispered in her head.

_ Haven’t I earned them? _ She asked.

_ A Jedi earned them. You are not a Jedi, by your own admission. Not any longer. _

When she came back to herself, she saw Juun walking up to the dying King. She heard her scream her rage, couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Jerre dead? His whole family wiped out? She felt completely horrified. It was no wonder that Juun had become so murderous since that call. She said nothing as the Captain tortured the dying man. Said nothing as the smell of electrified guts filled the air. 

_ He deserves it _ , she thought savagely, remembering the devastation across the planet, Risha floating unconscious in the kolto tank. Remembering Jerre celebrate with Cedonia on the day their first son was born.

But then the King passed out and the Captain wasn’t nearly done venting her rage. With slow, practiced motions she aimed her blaster, not at the King, but at one of his guards.

“CAPTAIN, NO!”

But it was too late. Stede began executing the guards. 

“Akaavi! I want the palace kriffing turned into a smoking crater big enough to fit a Coruscant skyscraper.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” the Mandalorian grunted, and reached for the bag of heavier munitions. 

She raised her finger to her earpiece, answering a hail from her partner.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “Get ready to pull out.”

* * *

Mako was slightly taken aback at her buddy’s response. 

“You know?” She asked. “Do you know what I know, or do you and I know completely different things right now? Look, this guy was in deeper than we all assumed. He’s gone and mortgaged anything and everything worth mortgaging on this planet. Made some  _ really _ iffy deals with some  _ highly _ suspicious people. Hutts are only the most innocent of the bunch. And he’s gone and put out tons of hits… Are you listening?”

_ “Mortgage, shady deals, suspicious characters, big hits. What’s the significance?” _

“I don’t think he’s the one who called some of the shots here, Akaavi,” Mako said. “He comes off as a guy without a plan, but the way the hits against his rivals have been orchestrated lately… the scope, the carefully planned chaos, the talent he’s tapped to do it all... there’s someone else helping him, maybe even using him. I can feel it.”

“Get what you found and get out of there. I’m not even going to ask you if you downloaded it all.”

“Copy that. Balaten, you done out there?”

He came in, dusting off his sleeves in a highly exaggerated manner. “Yeah. Amateurs. Anything interesting in those files? Bounties, conspiracies, shady deals, or whatever?”

Keeps an eye out for opportunity, eh? Mako’s opinion of the guy rose another notch out of the gutter. “Some really worrisome stuff. At least if you’re a local. Me? I think I’m gonna scram before this tsunami hits.”

His self-absorbed smirk melted off his face. “If it’s going to affect Dubrillion it’s gonna affect Juunie. Before you leave, would you consider leaving behind a copy of those files?”

“What’s relevant to Stede? Sure thing.” It was a reasonable request. She stopped short of asking what the smuggler was to him. Friends with benefits, she suspected, with a  _ heavy _ emphasis on friends.

A chime alerted her to another call. “Mako here.”

_ “Beryl here. Head to the roof, I’ll pick you up.” _

“Copy.”

_ “... is Hirome dead?” _

“Nope, still alive. Sorry.”

_ “Dammit,” _ she cursed, but Mako thought the woman sounded pleased.

* * *

Daerren looked at the ex-Jedi. Sumalee had sunk to her knees after Stede had killed the guards. Strange… he thought she was used to this kind of thing. She was, he recalled, one of Risha Drayen’s crew before she found her way to the Jedi. An expert thief and scrapper. And as a Jedi she’d fought on Corellia, Ilum, and Ziost.

Surely she wasn’t unused to gore? No, she seemed fine with Stede’s treatment of the King. It was executing people like the guards she might have trouble sleeping with. He left Stede and Spaar to whatever it was they were doing and jogged up to the Togruta. “Hey. Sabers. You alright?”

“I should have stopped her…”

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s decisions but your own.”

She glared at him. “And  _ I _ could have pulled the gun out of her hands! But I chose not to!”

“You didn’t make a choice, you froze. It happens. If you hadn’t been stumped, you  _ would _ have done what you thought best.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not. But I see you.” he gave her a level stare. “I see you. And I can tell you take your code very seriously.”

She sobbed. “I’m not a Jedi any longer.”

“But you follow a code. Even if it’s a personal one. Don’t have to be Jedi to have a code. Now. Come on. Get up. Lean on me if you need to. See there? Thorne is coming for us.”

The combat shuttle was indeed about to touch down.

“Thank you, Daerren.”

It wasn’t until after they’d gotten aboard the shuttle, taken off, and gotten a good distance from the estate that Sumalee registered Stede’s final order.

“Nooooo!” she screamed, but it was too late. The thermonuclear detonator-rigged spider droids Akaavi had set loose in the main corridor went off with a spectacular explosion, taking the palace along with it.

* * *


	8. Day of Sorrow

* * *

**Rineld Estate,** **  
** **Dubrillion**

Risha was already out of her Kolto tank when Juun got back, probably at her own insistence, cuz the doctors had made it clear that she should be under for at least another two weeks. With the chronic shortages gripping the galaxy, high-grade kolto had become a rarity. But time did not wait for anyone, and Risha probably felt that she had no choice but to stay awake for the coming days. 

And it was already off to one heck of a start.

She was silent as her dead husband, though her face remained impassive. To all ordinary passersby she looked to have taken the news of recent events—especially her husband’s death—quite well, but anyone who’d spent more than an hour with her could note the absence of her usual bossy, snappish demeanor. 

Her ever-present sneer was gone too. She still wore a brace around her neck, and her cheekbone had been broken by the impact of her assailant’s meaty fist. Speaking pained her. The doctors had prescribed some powerful painkillers to go with the reconstructive treatment, but Risha wasn’t willing to start taking them yet.

Her husband’s Last Will was being read to her, and it seemed that she was the sole beneficiary of almost all his wealth, land, titles, and authority. Great care had been taken, evidently, to prevent misreadings by greedy cousins. There was only one more beneficiary: his newly found half-sister Zora was granted a generous inheritance, and there was also provision for her to stay on Dubrillion—in the Rineld estate—if she wished. The ex-Sith broke into a fresh wave of sorrow upon hearing that.

She had only recently come to Dubrillion, but had come to love her kind new brother with all her heart. That was hardly surprising: she had spent her entire life being abused and suppressed, and had jumped at the chance of finding a new, quiet life. She had been torn between his invitation and her savior’s—Lana Beniko that is, who was clearly a much more swell gal than Juun had figured her out to be—but had ultimately chosen Dubrillion because Odessen was the center of a war effort. And Lana was a busy bird. Still, she was good people, Juun gave her that.

“Can I visit you though?” she’d asked Beniko anxiously when Juun had gone to fetch her, clearly unwilling to offend the first person who had ever been kind to her.

“As often as you’d like,” the soft Sith had said with a genuine-looking smile, cupping her face like Zora was a dear sweet cousin. Or something. “You’ll always be welcome any place I’m staying. Especially if that’s a home. Just… remember though that sometimes I might be busy.”

She’d been so full of hope, this former Dark Councillor. Now she was on the edge again. The peace she’d craved hadn’t even lasted a few months. Her new home had had its foundations knocked out in one fell swoop. She sobbed like a child without concern for dignity or propriety, but no one moved to console her.

Not because anyone knew of her history, oh no! To most people she was just an abused daughter of the spooky old Count from a previous marriage. But despite her brother’s best efforts, she was a nobody here. The servants and staff did not care unless ordered to. And right now, the one who could order them to, was understandably trapped in her own bubble. Although, come to think of it, Risha wasn’t the type to coddle people. Would she give this poor bereft woman a home?

Maybe out of respect for her husband’s wishes. But no more. There were two other people the staff responded to, because they were Risha’s confidantes. One—Vette—was in recovery. The other of course, was Juun herself. But right now, she was in her own little bubble too, having fallen in the moment she had ascertained that all was well. 

_ Jerre… poor Jerre! _

To think that the stupid King would—or even  _ could _ —get to him all the way on Chandrila. That the killers would not be content with killing just him, but his wife and kids too. And she couldn’t even head to the core to attend their funerals! If only she could abandon this shitshow of a planet to its well-deserved fate. 

Wait… what was stopping her? She didn’t owe Risha  _ squat _ … she’d already killed the rat who had put out the hit on her in the first place. She was safe now, right? Yes, she was safe. Even if she wasn’t, why did she take precedence over the man she’d long considered her younger brother?

That’s right. She  _ could _ leave. She  _ should _ leave. So why hadn’t she already?

_ Care for the living first, Sis. We don’t turn our backs on our team when they need us. The dead can wait a few more days. _

_ Damn you, lil Brother! _

* * *

Daerren stood before the Kolto tank in which his wife was being treated. Damn, she still looked like such a perfect little angel! 

The Doctor’s words echoed through his head. The bones of her right hand had been crushed almost to powder. They had been replaced, though the nerve damage had been harder to address. Luckily, her sister Tiiva would be arriving soon, to provide cells for regrowth.

Her ribs had healed well, though they had come far too close to puncturing her lung. Thankfully, that hadn’t happened: it would have caused some major complications. She might suffer from pains in her side for the rest of her life, though. It might take months of physiotherapy before she would be able to breathe properly too.

Hearing about her many injuries made Daerren’s blood boil again. He was glad that Stede had been there today, had ensured that the King had suffered. He hadn’t realised how perfunctory his execution by gutshot was at the time. Watching him squirm had been… disturbingly satisfying. 

Vette coughed and moaned something in her sleep and he felt his heart melt. What had he been thinking? He hadn't come here for some lunatic king, he'd come for Vette. Not just to kill the man who was responsible for her current state, but to prevent him from trying to hurt her again. But that wasn't all. He needed to be there to see her recover. To help, if she needed any. Things would never again be the same between them, but he could be here to watch over her even if she had lost his trust. 

Strange, he’d once thought trust and love were equivocal. He’d never known that you could have one without the other. 

_ Until Vette _ , he thought, rather less bitterly than he had expected to.  _ Damned little thief. _

* * *

As was her custom, Akaavi Spar paid perfect attention to everything Mako had to say. She did not interrupt, but made mental notes on points which needed clarification later. Once Mako finished, Akaavi asked her questions and allowed Mako to answer each one at a time. Once Mako was done with her last one, the Zabrak sat back and nodded.

“So my suspicions are confirmed then.This is going to end badly.”

Mako bounced onto the balls of her feet. “So can we leave already?” 

“No. War has come to a crew who once had my back. Honor demands that I have theirs in return. But you don’t have to stay. Our agreement does not entail you getting involved in my wars.”

“But I can’t leave without you!” Mako protested. “We’re a team. Right?”

“Then you had best be certain of that,” Akaavi answered, her visage hardening. “Remember Mako, our agreement has been a loosely defined one for a reason. Your time working with Dust has left you all too keen to avoid toxic workplaces and entanglements. We work together as two independent allies right now. We have until now taken only small jobs, easy bounties. But if you get involved in my war, claim that we are a team…”

“... then it will be that much harder to pull out.” Mako winced, fingering the bracelet on her wrist, as she always did when her nerves peaked. “But you’ve been so good to me…”

“Don’t worry about that,” Akaavi grunted. “You’ve been good to me too. And I know that even if we’re not on the same job, we certainly are friends now. And once this mess has been cleaned up—and if we’re both still alive—I know you’ll find me again. Now go. I won’t think less of you. Even among Mandalorians we do not ask anyone outside our Clan to fight for us.”

Mako tried to hide her hurt.  _ ‘Even among Mandalorians?’ _ Why was it that that  _ asshole _ Dust had been accepted into the galaxy’s most elite warriors, but she had not? Hadn’t she shown her mettle?

Well technically she hadn’t undergone the rite of passage, like Dust had. He had tracked and killed a monstrous Sithspawn in the wilds of Dromund Kaas, one which even several clans of Mandos hadn’t been able to kill. And he’d done it alone, as Mandalore the Vindicated had requested.

“I have upset you,” Akaavi said. It wasn’t a question. Mako felt obliged to answer with the truth.

“Ever since Dust was inducted into the Mandalorians, I wanted to be too.” 

“But people like you don’t become Mandalorian.”

Mako bristled. “What is meant by ‘people like me’?” 

“I’m sorry, I put that badly,” Akaavi answered. “I did not mean you are lacking in any way. Anyone who questions your courage is a fool. You are also better with a blaster than most Mandalorians. I will admit that few Mandos are tech wizards though. Or impressed by them. But none of these are what defines Mandalorians.”

“What does it take, then?”

Akaavi looked her dead on. “To glare a charging monstrosity in the eye. And not flinch.”

Mako turned and walked away without saying goodbye.

* * *

Akaavi felt a little bad for attacking Mako’s soft spot. Despite the girl’s belief to the contrary, she did not do as good a job as she thought of hiding her desire to become a Mando. But Akaavi felt she had had no choice: the streets of Dubrillion would soon run red with blood, and Mako was better off as far away from it all as possible.

She might live out her life hating Akaavi after this, but at least she would be alive. And maybe she would give up on her unreasonable dream. It had taken Akaavi herself many years to understand this, but being a Mandalorian wasn’t the only worthwhile path in the galaxy, just like being a Jedi or Sith or a soldier was not. Mako was a ‘good kid’, as Captain Stede used to call Jerre Kraot. Akaavi understood what that meant now, and dearly wished the best for her friend. At the very least, she hoped Mako could avoid meeting the same end that poor Jerre did.

She left to find Risha. She had to tell her what Mako had told her. 

* * *

**Elsewhere on the planet**

Shad Norris dully wandered the bombed-out streets of Olavan’s Rest, and noted his grandniece Iila shuffling through the rubble somewhere ahead. Her eyes were unfocused, her gait unsteady. Looked like she had finally taken her baby’s remains to be taken care of, but the only service available right now was mass graves. Once the pit was filled, it would be covered up and a stone marker bearing all the names of the buried would be placed on the site. Or at least, those that could be identified. Or those who left people behind who still cared.

Iila had held on to Cora’s corpse for almost five days before finally giving it up. Only the icy temperatures of the polar region had prevented rot from taking hold, and making her give it up earlier.

She wasn’t the only one, he noted sadly. So many people had lost everything in the bombardment, and the aftermath had slowly claimed any of those that had survived. And now, after the situation finally looked like it was stabilizing, many of these remnants of a remnant too had been killed in recent days. Either by the violent assassinations, the stampede afterwards, or lack of basic necessities following the breakdown of law and order.

There were still a distressing number of glassy-eyed survivors holding on to their loved ones’ bodies, walking around town, even whispering to them with the desperate hope that they were merely tired… that they might wake up once they were better.

But every now and then there were people kneeling in the streets and bawling their eyes out, sole survivors who had successfully cleared the denial stage, but had run headfirst into a mind-tearing pain. They shrieked and sobbed, begging for someone to return their loved ones.

Worst, perhaps, were the ones who were upset, and looking for someone to blame. Someone to  _ crucify _ . People whispered names, argued about who bore the brunt of the responsibility. They debated events, listing out in excruciating detail why every last one of their current troubles were due to so-and-so’s actions, or lack thereof.

Invariably—while the Republic did get its fair share of curses—the anger became more directed at the people who were still alive. The top of that tiny list was Risha Drayen, followed by the few remaining nobles and ministers.

Shad walked into one of the emergency shelters which had been delivered by the Alliance. It was currently being used as a sort of common room. Similar to a cantina or pub, but without the drinks, and food distributed only at regular intervals. Though it  _ was _ all free of charge. Like everything else they provided. 

A holoprojector had been set up in the middle—this luxury had been scrounged up from one of the wrecked buildings, not provided by their benefactors—which normally played comedy skits and movies, but today seemed to be set on a news channel. An Alderaanian one, one of the few places in the Republic where Saresh’s tight censorship laws hadn’t taken hold. Yet.

Shad squinted to get a better look—he’d lost his glasses in the bombardment. It was one of those panel shows, where a bunch of stuffy people pretended to be authorities on some hot topic. Of course, they were talking about Dubrillion, which was why the channel was on; even in better times, his people wouldn’t care otherwise.

There were seven of them, including a retired General he recognized but could not name. They ferociously discussed the assassinations, the riots, and the breakdown of order. They sneered at Queen Risha’s—for though she hadn’t crowned herself yet, that’s what she was now, with Actavarus dead, even if she didn’t last the week—friend taking it upon herself to kill the King. Well, what was she supposed to do? The Republic had abandoned them—again—right after the Council of Peers had gone public with the intel about the shields. They had allowed Actavarus a chance to recover, and he had tried. Weren’t they themselves talking about those assassinations and riots? If she had done nothing the King would have tried again, and with more desperate measures.

He’d heard whispers of assassins who had struck at enemies offworld, including Coruscant itself. And Alderaan. If the King was willing and able to go that far, wasn’t the one who took the initiative to stop him a bleeding hero?

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

_ “Shut your trap, you pompous ass!” _ a snarly-faced nobleman shrieked at another member—a haughty Twi’lek woman called Alauni.

The host tried half-heartedly to keep things neutral, but Shad could almost see the self-satisfied smirk on his face. Outbursts like this upped the ratings, and at no penalty to the company. They weren’t breaking the rules, it was these independent panelists who refused to control themselves!  _ “That man needed to be killed and no one else could or would do it. Even the Republic abandoned them. Did you know that Actavarus’s assassins didn’t limit their activities to Dubrillion? He killed my Sister! He killed Cedonia and her entire family, who were living peacefully on Chandrila!” _

_ “Please, Lord Teraan,” _ the host cut in smoothly.  _ “Can you elaborate for our viewers?” _

Lord Teraan’s eyes flashed.  _ “Certainly! My sister Cedonia married a Republic hero named Jerre Kraot. He was a veteran of several major conflicts including Balmorra, Taris, and Corellia. He fought and bled for the Republic, and earned his right to live out a peaceful life with my Sister. They had three children together. The youngest, Juunie, was only three months old!”  _ He was overwhelmed by grief, but continued to speak through his tears.  _ “Thirty-seven hours ago, as they were celebrating their eighth year anniversary, when their house was bombed. The assassin walked into the burning home and  _ EXECUTED _ all of them when they were unconscious! He was terrorizing his subjects and killing people all the way on Chandrila and Captain Stede was the only one who had the nerve to stop him. So what if she wasn’t sanctioned? It’s not like the Republic was going to lift a finger to help them. Heck, maybe we need someone with her initiative on Coruscant right now!” _

Now the host looked nervous. Shad couldn’t help himself; he snorted. Even in ideal times it was a bad idea to have a guest who openly called for vigilante justice. In these times, the news company was like to get shut down. 

They continued to argue, and it got worse from there, name-calling, calls for Stede’s arrest, or for the rest of the Republic to follow suit and overthrow their oppressors.

Around him, these latter words had effect and anger swelled. Angry whispers broke out, even some shouting.

Shad pulled his thin ornamental silk cloak to ward off the chill, only to find that it was trepidation that had him shivering now and not the weather. This storm that had been visited upon Dubrillion wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. 

* * *

**Aboard the** **_Medjai_ ** **-class Cruiser** **_Scarab,_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Mayagil Sector_ **

Ka watched the news broadcast along with her mistress. She could barely make out the words; these core-worlders spoke with an accent she didn’t think she’d ever understand, and much too fast for her besides. She could tell they were arguing though; the way they were shouting at each other.

At one point though, she noticed the host’s expression grow frantic; perhaps the crying man had said something dangerous.

Her mistress watched expressionless as usual. No smile, no scowls, no snorts, no sighs. She had all the emotion of a rock. Or rather, a corpse. When she wasn’t moving, it could be impossible to tell if she was alive or not. But when she moved… stars, Ka wished she could move like that!

But despite her dispassion, Ka could usually tell whether or not the news was what the Mistress wished to hear or not., and what she was hearing today would have made any other being cheer and clap.

A soft beep, a report from the bridge that she couldn’t hear, but the mistress nodded her horned head. Those horns fascinated Ka. They were not the short, bony, misshapen outgrowths common among her own people, but perfectly symmetrical, long, and beautiful. The natural blue patterns that adorned them only made the impression that her mistress was designed by an artist.

Caught in her single-minded scrutiny, she jumped when the doors swung open. She shrunk back whimpering as a tall, hulking figure walked in. 

He was one of the House’s most dangerous servants, and looked like a monster out of the Mirage Fathers’ haze dreams. Carapace covered his head, his beady eyes were cruel and watchful, and his lips hid thick, yellow fangs as wide as both of her big toes. He bowed before the Mistress, and his cloak parted to reveal an extra pair of arms, each with three fingers. He wore an armor painted the same brown as his carapace. His cloak bulged with all of the weapons he kept strapped to himself.

“Well done Bounty Hunter,” the Mistress said to him. “Your actions have caused the dominos to start falling in cascades. Discord rages across the Galaxy. Just as Jadus had planned. You have completed his final mission to our satisfaction. Your payment is ready.”

The tall alien grunted. “What about Stede? Did he plan for this? Did he intend her to be the one to hit back at Actavarus? Is that why he sent me after Kraot?”

“We did not expect it to be  _ her _ , just  _ someone. _ Drayen, perhaps. I had not expected the would-be queen to be so badly wounded in that attempt. She must have gotten soft. No matter. If no one else had risen to the task then I’d have sent you after him, with a few of my people to lay a false trail. As for the good captain, she’s of no concern to me. Kraot was likewise insignificant. It was more his  _ Wife _ and  _ her _ family that had to be killed. For her Brother to utter the words he did today. That was what was important to us. But if you got your revenge along the way, all the better for us.”

“I have a score to settle with her.”

“Then settle it, but leave Drayen alone. In fact, if you wait a couple of days, the good queen should be removed from your path by the events we have set in motion. If you wish any resources in your hunt, you can have them.”

“Appreciate it. I’d like to use the kid.” He nodded at Ka.

Ka tried to hide her panic. The Mistress raised an eyebrow. “She’s all yours.”

The Bounty Hunter motioned to Ka, then turned on his heel and left the room.

The girl scrambled to her feet, tripping twice in her haste to follow.

“You finally get to use those skills of yours, little cub. Are you excited?”

“Yes, Sir.” she responded dutifully. She wasn’t.

“Get your kit and meet me in the landing bay. Don’t forget your blades. And your armor.”

“Yes Sir.”

* * *

  
  



	9. Conflagration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Book 3 Chapter 12: Day of Rage  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/68614125

* * *

**Iliba, Ostille County,** **  
****Dubrillion**

Pandemonium. What little order remained on Dubrillion was going down the drain. Anger was the law on the street. 

For the past three weeks, angry throngs had torn down the few buildings which still stood, looting anything of value before squabbling over it. Blood ran like rivers at the slightest provocation, and the most damning ones at the moment were having worked for the government or nobility, or having once numbered among the elite. The term ‘elite’ was loosely applied, unfortunately, so even small business owners and shopkeepers were being rounded up and lynched.

Fires burned everywhere, and not all of those attempting to escape the fires were there by accident.

And with riots happening all over the galaxy, the Republic was even less bothered than usual to step in. Even the Alliance wasn’t attempting to stop the bedlam. Their relief teams had fled before the mobs, although they had left their all-important stores of food and medicine behind.

A woman stood atop a fallen statue of the King—a statue that had somehow been left standing by the bombardment but had been pulled down a few days prior—in front of a dozen or more tall poles, each of which bore a deliberately torn and soiled flag, either those of the King’s, House Drayen, and those of other Nobles. 

Brandishing an old hunting rifle, she harangued a mob of hundreds of beings carrying weapons of their own, both makeshift and real, who screamed their approval of her inflaming words.

 _“THE DEAD DEMAND VENGEANCE!”_ she screamed, and indeed, many did feel the ghosts of loved ones lingering accusingly at their backs.

Then she pointed at the fortified hill, home to Count Ostille’s palace, and screeched her order. _“LET US GIVE THEM WHAT THEY DEMAND, IN BLOOD!”_

With an overpowering shout, the frenzied crowd surged forwards.

* * *

**Atop the walls of Count Ostille’s Palace**

Captain Tevaron watched, aghast, as the rioters reached the walls. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

Just this morning, Count Varu’s Estate had sent out a series of distress signals; angry mobs had descended upon it. The guards at the outer perimeter had betrayed their employer and opened their gates, hoping to be spared. They hadn’t. Their comrades deeper inside had watched in horror as they were literally torn limb from limb, stabbed and hacked by homemade weapons. 

The crowd’s bloodlust had been so palpable that there had been no further betrayals nor surrenders, but inch by inch, they had invaded the grounds and the palace, forcing the residents to barricade themselves in the hope of rescue.

Of course, none came. The last transmission had been from a boy barely thirteen years of age, screaming for his mummy after having watched the mob’s savagery.

All those transmissions had said the same thing; the guards hadn’t fought back properly until they were backed into a corner. 

Now he faced the same enemy. Tevaron now had to ensure that the crowd’s bloodlust was sated with its own gore. Take such a heavy toll on the mob that they lost their rage was dispelled. It would be painful, nauseating work—he knew many of these people after all, he even recognized childhood friends in that mob—but there was more at stake than his employer’s safety. He was fighting for his own life right now, fighting so that he could die a quiet death in a comfortable home sixty years from now rather than hacked apart by a mob wielding clubs and pitchforks.

* * *

**The Briefing Room of the Rineld Estate**

Risha sat slumped in the seat which had formerly been occupied by her husband. She must cut a defeated figure, she thought; a brace around her neck, her face lopsided thanks to the broken cheekbone, and her once-seemingly boundless energy spent. 

Along with her were all the top advisors—both hers and Merrit’s—officers, and closest friends; Juun, Beryl Thorne, Sumalee, Akaavi Spar, and Vette. Also in attendance were Vette’s ex-husband Daerren, and an unusually somber Hirome Balaten.

Additionally, some members of the Alliance were on call; Lana and Arro, but also Hylo Visz and Bey'wan Aygo. 

All eyes were on the feeds displayed on the main projector; a dozen cities all over Dubrillion—what was left of them following the bombardment that is—were overrun by angry mobs. Dubrillion was facing an orgy of violence on an unprecedented scale. Hundreds of citizens were being dragged out of their homes and set upon by frenzied hordes with picks and shivs. Nobles’ Estates, Government buildings, statues, monuments, and museums were being torn down and looted. Any symbols of the old regime were despoiled. Any flags taken which weren’t burned outright were symbolically defaced. 

Severed heads were mounted on pikes, being picked at by carrion birds. Vermin had also come out of their holes to feast on the sudden excess of gory sustenance.

“This is terrible stuff, Your Highness,” the new Captain, Marne, said. They had taken to calling her that, now that Actavarus was dead. “Do we have to watch? We know what’s happening out there.”

 _What awaits us if our defenses fall_ , is what she left unsaid. There had been three assaults on the walls, but they had been repulsed, with a massive and pointless loss of life. They had been largely helped by Sumalee’s inexpert Battle Meditation, which had allowed the defenders to remain coordinated and their morale intact, while breaking the attackers’ will to fight probably much sooner than they would have otherwise.

Merritt’s father, Padron, had fortified the defenses and insisted on the highest quality of training and equipment for House Rineld’s guards, a trait that Merrit had inherited. And when Risha had entered the picture, she had also increased the defenses in anticipation of an attack from the usurper. As a result, House Rineld had solid defenses held by well disciplined guards, and had not fallen like virtually every other Noble House on the planet.

Some, like Counts Ostille, Constanze, Durend, and Palladus, had fled the planet when their homes were breached. But many more had been shot down by their own guards who saw it as a betrayal that their employers hung them out to dry while they fled. Rightly, in Risha’s opinion.

She sighed and nodded, allowing someone to switch off the projector. She addressed the Alliance. “Can you send us any aid?” she asked desperately. “Any at all?”

 _“All our soldiers are deployed to fight SCORPIO,”_ Admiral Aygo said grimly. _“But the truth is… even if they weren’t I wouldn’t want to send them in there. Nine out of ten people they’d be fighting would be crazed civilians, not enemy soldiers. It’s grim work, no matter how necessary it might seem.”_

 _“We only have so much in the way of relief supplies to go around too,”_ Hylo said. _“We’re still more of a military set up than a political one.”_

“So you’ll send us nothing?” The Chamberlin, Ghar, asked desperately.

 _“Sadly, yes,”_ Arro said. _“I do have an idea for you, however.”_

“Tell me,” Risha breathed.

 _“Take control of the chaos,”_ the Jedi replied _. “You still have contacts across not just Dubrillion, but the whole Galaxy, from your days as a Spacer. Have them find the loudest voices screaming for blood, and oppose them. Discredit them where you can: Ferret out the skeletons in their closets and make them public so you can turn their supporters against them, then remove them. Feed them to their own guillotines if you have to. The House of Masks is almost definitely behind some of the unrest. They will be the ones seeding the hatreds and anger among the people, not to mention the occasional shipment of weapons. Coordinate all of this from your palace, and once things quiet down, remind the people what you gave them. The Alliance can resume relief shipments in areas where order has been restored; prove that you are the best shot at both, and the people will accept you again.”_

“But that could take years!” A lieutenant interjected. 

_“Only if you cannot excise it, surgically,”_ Lana countered. _“Which is to say, if it runs rampant long enough. If leaders emerge and establish themselves. To my knowledge, forty-three such people have already been killed. Nine more are rising as the top leaders, and I already have files on six of these that can unmask them as opportunistic thugs.”_

 _“In addition,”_ Arro added. _“It might be a good idea to have your contacts remind the rioters exactly whom they’ve been killing so gleefully. Read out names, hobbies. Talk about their families. Have their holos broadcast where possible.”_

“That is a pretty tall order,” Juun said.

 _“It’s the field Actavarus sowed for you,”_ Arro sighed. _“I’m sorry you were the ones who inherited it. But if you don’t rise to the challenge, Dubrillion faces years of chaos. And I’ve seen you at work before, Your Highness. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”_

“So you’re not saying anything about me killing Beera-Pot?” Juun asked, sounding hopeful.

_“No. Sometimes, people need to die.”_

“Don’t remember _that_ in the Jedi code,” Sumalee said glumly.

 _“I’m sorry, Master Jedi,”_ Arro said, sounding frustrated.

“Don’t be. And I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

“I can join in on the action,” Vette piped up. “I travelled most of Dubrillion these past months. Most people know me. I think they like me. I’ve already spoken in favor of peace a few times too.”

“Vette, you’re still in recovery,” Risha admonished. “Your hand is a mess too! If anything happens, you won’t be able to defend yourself out there!”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Daerren offered. “Hirome too, if he’s willing.” The small merc looked surprised when he heard his name mentioned, but smiled grimly and nodded.

“I’m here until things quiet down,” he answered. “I don’t abandon my friends.”

“Thanks Balaten,” Risha said. “Are you really doing this Peregrine? Sending your injured wife out into _that_?” She nodded at the window through which a thick cloud of smoke was visible.

“I found that it’s better to help her than try to say no,” Daerren answered. “She’d just slip away when you weren’t looking. Besides, it isn’t that much safer here if your defenses fall. Also… she’s not my wife anymore.”

Vette sniffed, but relaxed slightly. Risha sighed again. Public speaking really wasn’t Vette’s thing. But she did have a gift for lowering the anger meters in a room. Something about her presence…

“It’s not like there’s much choice,” Beryl added. “The sooner we get started, the better. It will take a while to move Vette—or whoever—to the Capital.”

“I can go too,” Sumalee spoke up. “I can use my Battle Meditation again. Make Vette sound irresistible. And the mobs more willing to listen.”

“Without you here, the rioters may break through,” Captain Marne objected. “The plan hinges on the Queen remaining alive.”

Behind Risha, Merritt stirred. “You can’t do it,” he said. “You’re just an up-jumped pirate.”

She ignored him. The real Merritt knew how much of herself she had given to the betterment of Dubrillion. He wouldn’t _ever_ belittle her. Right?

* * *

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Book 3 Chapter 13: The Little War  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/68874765


	10. The Utopiocracy

* * *

**Rineld Castle,** **  
** **Dubrillion**

Risha gingerly rubbed her cheek. It felt much better as the days went by, especially since she had chosen to resume kolto immersions, just as her doctors had advised. There was little for her to do now that she was caught up again. Thanks to Stede’s quick action, she didn’t have to worry about the usurper’s assassins anymore, and there was little political maneuvering to be done either. Not by her, at least. The bloody revolution taking place outside was largely out of her control. All she could do was trust her friends and contacts to perform their assigned tasks.

Someone knocked at the door. “Risha?”

She turned, and tried to suppress a shudder. It was Zora. Risha felt a little guilty from her reaction, but only a little. This had once been a Sith Lord; in fact, she had once been at the very pinnacle of Sith power. One of the powerful twelve of the Dark Council. Though that lofty distinction was one in name only. She had never been allowed to wield any real authority by her colleagues. Nor even any dignity. The only reason she had been allowed to live was because having such a weak head allowed others to use her resources at will. And so, she had gone from being abused by Jadus, to being ignored by the Council. Until one fateful day, when her cruel father had returned for her, angered by her horrific incompetence, and crushed what had remained of her sanity. He had left a mere shell of a woman who had been all too happy to renounce the Sith once she had been healed. 

Just like Merritt, Risha’s husband, had been all too eager to accept her once he found out she was, in fact, his half-sister.

“Come in, Zora,” Risha smiled. The woman did not seem to notice the stiffness, or her earlier aversion. She seemed to harbor fears of her own, jumping whenever anyone addressed her, always trying her best to please every single person she interacted with. She came in, holding a plate in her hands. “Oh, you shouldn’t have gone through the trouble!” Risha protested.

Zora just smiled. She laid the dish on the table. Then she hastily bowed and tried to withdraw.

“Wait!” Risha said, and the pale woman stopped hesitantly. “Would you like to share my…” —she removed the lid— “pancakes with me?”

The other beamed, her scarred mouth splitting open in a wide smile. “Oh, yes I would! Thank you! There’s only one plate though…”

“We can eat from the same one,” Risha waved her into the attached garden. “Come on now!”

The girl needed no more prompting. She bounded over with all the enthusiasm of a small child. They sat down at the small tea table, passing the plate back and forth as they ate. And as they ate, Risha tried to set her unexpected Sister-in-Law at ease. She was successful, though mostly because Zora herself was so responsive to Risha’s efforts. She easily opened up, though she preferred to keep the topics light, something that suited Risha too just fine.

It was refreshing, actually. After some time, she realised that she was talking about herself in return. Telling her about her misadventures as a little girl, her shenanigans as a teen, and her years spent adrift after her Father had been frozen.

And Zora was a delightful listener; paying rapt attention, expressing genuine “Ooos!” and “Aaahs!” of delight and wonder at the appropriate moments. And Risha continued to talk, more than she had in years.

Here, in the middle of ruin and fire, as mobs reigned in her once beautiful home and rabble-rousers called for her bloody demise, she found her little piece of calm. She was grateful for it.

* * *

Elsewhere on Dubrillion, certain gang leaders were gaining prominence over others. Sometimes their followers engaged in brutal clashes, leading to horrific maiming and death tolls. But sometimes, they formed alliances, combined their power bases.

Vette was the most prominent voice for peace, just as she’d predicted. Those weeks spent running around getting acquainted paid off. Not to mention, many of these people knew that when their darkest hour had come for them, the only ones who had had their back had been the Alliance. Her belonging to that organization gave her a degree of protection. 

But that was all the bright side she got. The extremists had begun to coalesce around six figures. Dannel Borrs, Vinden Leeds, Kaya Russell, Perry Shell, Orbal Days, and Vinna Row. These six combined boasted a huge following across the entire planet, and easily dwarfed Vette’s own moderates. And despite the best efforts of Vette, Risha, and all of their contacts, these were eventually able to form a government, which they called the Free Peoples’ Utopiocracy of Dubrillion.

* * *

**Capitol Tower, Dubrillion City**

“I call this meeting to order!” President General Dannel Borrs called, beating his gavel on the table, and the conversations in the room started to quiet down. Here and there, coughs punctuated the growing silence. The tall ex-soldier nodded impressively before sitting back down. No one knew if he really had been an officer, much less a General. But his followers had been the largest, loudest, most powerful of the lot, more than any of three of the others combined. There had been many ex-soldiers among them, but his message brought him many times as many civilians; that stronger security was needed to ensure that a foolish despot like Actavarus never returned to power. “I promise a world so strong that no one will even think of attacking us!” He had promised his adoring fanatics. “A magnificent fleet of graceful ships, and shields so strong they can repel a supernova! Which can withstand the destructive force of an entire Black Hole cluster! No more will our security be dictated by a cold republic a thousand parsecs away! No more will our safety be in the hands of callous, greedy kings and his nobles!”

And people had believed his cry. Rallied to it. Those who opposed him died violently. It was whispered that the other five had joined forces to combat him, but both sides had hesitated, fearing mutual destruction. This coalition, this so-called ‘Utoipiocracy’, was their compromise. But the President General kept the lion’s share of the power.

What scared Vette was the fear that eventually, he would sway enough of the others’ followers that he would wield absolute power.

“Let’s begin our first official meeting, shall we?” The tall leader of the fledgeling government grinned slightly. All his expressions were slight. It was like he was a cold machine only barely pretending to be kiffex.

“Yes, President General,” Lord Speaker Vinden Leeds murmured. He had been a public prosecutor, and the first to publicly call for the King’s head following the big reveal. That he had survived so long was a testament to his survivability, at least. Vette had some info on him from Lana; he was one of those who genuinely wanted a better Dubrillion. Unfortunately, this didn’t make him any less likely to send off people to the gallows in droves; the kangaroo courts and soon-to-be-state-mass-execution-method was his brainchild. The people he had condemned, he had genuinely believed were threats to a safe and ordered Dubrillion. Fat lot of comfort it gave his victims, however.

“For the first item on the docket,” he said. “The question of what to do about ‘Queen’ Risha Drayen.”

“No,” interrupted Kaya Russel, who had been another lawyer. “Our most important question is  _ her.” _ She nodded at Vette. “She has no place here. She’s not Dubrellian.”

“Nor are  _ you!” _ Vette shot back. “You’re from  _ Kuat _ . You were  _ exiled _ for taking bribes, and only made it here through the idiot  _ King’s _ good graces!” The woman had the good grace to wither. “Nor, for that matter, are  _ you _ !” Vette continued, tossing her best sneer at Orbal Days. “You only got here a week before the bombardment!”

“Minister Days brought order to a very dangerous part of Dubrillion,” The President-General said. His lips barely moved as he spoke, and his eyes glittered like ice-infused sapphires. “As did Minister Russel.”

“As did Risha,” Vette pressed. “As did I. She was helping long before the Fleet came and ruined your tea parties. I spent the past few months running around keeping your people fed. I risked my neck—the one the king’s assassins nearly broke—coming out into these riots just to stop the bloodshed. Outsider or not, I’m working to help Dubrillion.”

“She certainly is,” Leeds said. “In fact, that is why I invited her here.”

“You invited her here because you want the Alliance in our good graces,” Row accused him.

“So what if he is?” Russel asked. “The Alliance is one of the few ways we can get supplied.”

“The Republic turned its back on us when we needed them most. The Alliance will, too. Self-sufficiency, total self-sufficiency, is the only way forward!” The General-President declared.

“Something we’re still a long way off from,” Leeds said. “And as someone who aided us, I suggest we allow Vette to observe. To even voice her opinions. She will, of course, have no vote here.”

“So be it,” the President General said.

“Fine, let’s talk about Drayen then.” Row said sourly. “I vote to have her hanged.”

“Without even a trial?” Vette asked. “After all she’s done for you?”

“She’s sealed her fate by resisting arrest.”

“Resisting being summarily strung up by bloodthirsty manic hordes, you mean?” Vette spat. “Which one of  _ you _ hypocrites would be brave enough to surrender yourselves to them? I’ve fought on the front lines for years, and I’ve never seen a more savage— _ grotesque _ —showing!”

“They  _ were _ a little overzealous, Dannel,” Kaya Russell admitted softly.

“Very well then,” the President-General sighed. “We will give her  _ one more _ chance. She surrenders by dawn in ten days, or the Utopiocracy’s army will continue to storm her walls. And if they are repelled once, they will try again and again. She cannot hold out forever against us.”

“And her safety?” Vette asked.

“Guaranteed,” the President General breathed. “By me. Any person who violates it will be killed. Your people may be allowed to protect her in prison.”

Great! “And that of everyone else holed up with her?”

“They’re free to go. But they turn over their supplies to us. Food, medicines, weapons, ships, and fuel.”

“But they keep enough to defend themselves,” Vette pressed. 

He shrugged. “Very well. But nothing larger than a guard’s standard-issue blaster rifle. Now can we move on to the next item?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Leeds said, looking at his list. The topic moved on to food, namely, where to look now that almost every last larder had been raided till the cobwebs had been sucked off. But Vette felt some measure of relief. Risha would hopefully be too; she and the others were safe, for now.

* * *

Risha was mad. Vette looked shocked, even hurt. Had she expected her to be pleased?

“It was for  _ precisely _ this reason I didn’t want you playing politics!” she seethed, pacing like a trapped nexu. “You have no idea the position you’ve put me in!” She jabbed a finger at Vette, who was getting closer and closer to tears. “Now they’ll have me and a bunch of my supporters in a place they can easily dispose of us! At least in  _ this _ building—” she gestured at the walls “—we’re protected. We have some supplies to last us a good while, and a safe landing pad to get more from off-world, at least for now. They’d require artillery and air support to take us out! But a prison of their choosing? They could kill me off with a good chunk of my supporters in one swoop!”

“They’re about to get artillery,” Vette cried. “They might get air support too! They’ve got people restarting the military factories!”

Risha started.  _ “NOW? _ When people are starving?”

Vette nodded, with a sniffle. “They were bombed first before the hunger pangs got bad, remember? They want a working defense if it happens again.”

_ “Working defenses?” _ Risha scoffed. “Ground Artillery and armor against an orbital bombardment? Or were they planning on building shield generators? We don’t have the raw materials for those. And the Alliance won’t send the shields until the planet stabilizes.”

“It’s  _ something _ . The people are afraid, Risha. And they’re angry. Everyone who was supposed to protect them… they didn’t just fail, they did the opposite of their job description. The king with the shields, and the Republic with the fleet.”

Risha resumed her pacing, and Vette took the moment to wipe her eyes. What a godawful mess! She sighed. “I’m sorry for screaming at you, Vette. You did well, considering what you were up against. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re trapped. We can either surrender to these ‘generous’ terms, or be bombed out when they get their artillery working.”

“Which should be in a few days,” Vette said, and again Risha jumped. It was that close? She had assumed it would take much longer for those factories to get working again! “Hey, maybe you can radio the Alliance. Evacuate the estate.”

Risha hesitated, considering it. “I don’t know, Vette. If I leave, it’s forever abandoning Dubrillion to this regime. These past few years, working with Merritt… I have come to love this crazy world. My world. My home. For Merritt, for Nok, for myself, and for the people who have believed in us… And then there are the people you yourself have rallied these past few weeks. Can I abandon them too? I think not, Vette. I think not. But I will allow anyone who wants to leave to be evacuated.” She paused for thought. “Maybe Zora can leave too.”

“Zora?” Vette sounded surprised. “You’re on first name terms with her already?”

“Well, it’s not like I know her last name. Besides… I’ve had so many chats with her these last few days. I’ve really taken a shine to her. She really is a good person now. An innocent. She deserves a good life, if she can get one.” She chuckled ruefully. “It’s strange. I’ve always laughed at the Jedi’s ridiculous need to redeem every last soul they find. But now, I think I understand it. Everyone is capable of being more than they were.”

She grew silent, then spoke again after some thought. “I’ll make the announcement tomorrow. I will be accepting the President-General’s ‘gracious’ terms. Anyone who wants to leave can do so with honor. That includes you, by the way.”

Vette just snorted.

* * *

**Odessen Base**

Arro rubbed his jaw, staring at the spot where Vette’s holo had stood a few moments earlier. 

Lana seemed to share his assessment. “Did it seem like things are going a little too fast?”

“Yeah,” Theron said. “Not only did those disparate groups coalesce into a government in such a short time, they got munitions factories working again. Barely. There’s no way this ‘President General’ could have done any of this without help.”

“And a plan,” Aygo rumbled. 

“The House of Masks is behind this,” Arro said. He Felt absolutely certain.

“Why?” Jasme asked. “Why focus on Dubrillion? It’s a small world, barely relevant in the grand scheme of things!”

It was Theron who answered. “They’re not focusing on Dubrillion. They’re doing this everywhere.”

* * *

  
  



	11. The Shadow

* * *

**Rineld Estate,** **  
** **Dubrillion**

Captain Beryl Thorne wandered the nearly-empty hallways of the Rineld estate, relishing in the newfound sense of security that had returned. It had been two days since Risha had surrendered to the President General of the new Regime. More than two thirds of the guards had volunteered to guard the prison she would be housed at, out of admiration for her courage at remaining behind on the world when she could have fled. Some handmaidens, clerks, and servants had also transferred over to the prison staff to serve her.

Beryl marvelled at the treatment Risha received; every other noble who hadn’t escaped the planet had been publicly lynched. In contrast, Risha was being treated as though she really had been queen, and a popular one at that. Regardless of what she asserted about the danger of all of her supporters being wiped out in one swoop if the so-called ‘Utopiocracy’ wanted it, the very fact that they had made this offer betrayed her strength; she had tried to do right by the people, and the people remembered. The Regime wanted any threats to their rule locked away, as most regimes did, but as Vette had reported, they almost had artillery ready. They  _ could _ have waited till it was ready and gone in for an almighty push. But they didn’t. They offered her this one olive branch.

Perhaps it was a way of distancing themselves from their image as a bloody revolution and an illegitimate government, perhaps it was the fact that Risha had the support of the Alliance—whose goodwill they still needed to earn back for supplies to resume. But they had allowed it, and Beryl was grateful for it. She didn’t abandon her friends, but nor was she keen on a bloody end.

Without quite intending to, she found that her path had taken her to the rooftop garden overlooking the main gate. Not intentional, but a better place than many to stop and savor the kaf. She stepped out on to the garden, and strode out into the pillars of sunlight, basking in the rays with her eyes closed for a moment. She smiled at the guard on duty, a tall dark-skinned man she’d had eyes on since landing on this mess of a planet. 

“Hey Nol!” she said brightly. “How’s it going?”

The man grinned back. “It’s all good out there, Thorne. Damn, it really is good to not be worried about an attack anymore, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Beryl agreed. “Finally slept without a knife under my pillow. Trouble is that now I’ve gone and gotten used to having something  _ solid _ on my bed. Could use something else instead.”

He rolled his eyes. “How about a clock?” he teased. 

She laughed. “Am I really giving you  _ that _ … hard a time?” she asked.

“Oh, I just enjoy the game,” he winked. “Dinner tonight? I get off duty at nineteen hundred.”

“Sounds good,” she winked back. She stood next to him, closer than was strictly necessary, content to just stand here the whole three and a half hours until his shift ended.

Sadly, their momentary peace wasn’t meant to last. A startled scream emerged from the hallway, making them both jump and swing into action. 

“Could be nothing,” Nol said, clearly hoping to believe it was true.

“Yeah,” Beryl agreed, heart throbbing. “Just someone whose nerves got the better of them. We were on high alert for a few weeks after all!”

They both entered the door opposite the one Beryl had come from, which led to the corridor to Risha’s, Zora’s, Juun’s and Vette’s bedrooms. They entered, and found a red-faced janitor profusely apologizing to the guards who had arrived. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” she wailed. “I was just seeing things. Still so jumpy after the siege. Thought I saw a shadow darting around just the Queen’s chambers, but it was just my mind playing tricks on me.”

“It  _ could _ be a thief,” another guard, who had arrived at the scene before Beryl, said bracingly. “We’ll look around for signs of an intruder.”

The guards conducted a thorough search of the mansion, but not so much as a stray speck of dust was found.

“See? It was nothing,” Nol said, sounding deeply relieved. 

“Yeah,” Beryl agreed.

* * *

The next disturbance occurred around an hour later, people jumping at shadows again. But before complacency could set in, it escalated. A day later, the doubt that there was a real intruder was gone forever; another commotion, this one at the gardens. The head gardener came hobbling into the main hall wailing that someone had painted the white blooms a blood-soaked red. There was no trail; whoever the culprit was, they’d been careful enough to not drop a stray blob of paint.

The paint was found—thankfully, it really was just paint and not blood—in the kitchen, right in the middle of all the bustle of preparing the next meal. It certainly hadn’t been there when Beryl and Akaavi had checked the room mere moments earlier.

After this incident, the slightest creaks of windows was enough to sound the alarm, and in at least one of these instances a stray shadow was indeed seeing disappearing into the corridors. 

The next morning, the sun rose on a household that had failed to catch even a wink of sleep. Everyone was on edge, everyone was armed with what few weapons they had been allowed to keep.

The only exception was Captain Stede, who slept later and was even more boisterous than usual. 

A new siege had begun.

* * *

  
  
  



	12. Scrutiny

* * *

**Beggar’s Canyon,** **  
** **Three hours by speeder from Mos Ila,** **  
** **Tatooine**

Jaesa stared at the homestead in disbelief. “This is it?” She asked.

Beside her, her Master nodded her red-maned head. “Not what you were expecting, is it?”

It wasn’t. As a Darth, Nox’s tastes had varied greatly depending on her mood. Her two dozen or so residences across the Empire were either opulent estates or simple huts, depending on the world. But they were all custom-built for her purposes. This one? It looked like a bandit’s hideout. Maybe that’s exactly what it was: she had once flown with the pirate, Andronikos Revel, and the pair had met on Tatooine. Maybe this had been his hideout once? Where they had met?

“Ah, I see you’ve made the connection to Andronikos already,” Master Kai grinned. “I’d always admired how intelligent you were.”

Jaesa blushed happily at the praise. Her Master had never been shy with it, but it always left her feeling excited. 

A sudden shift in the Force made her return her attention to her surroundings. Just like when she had been young, the heat of Tatooine did not bother her. But this desert held other dangers: many kinds of outlaws called Tatooine home. Tusken Raiders sometimes attacked without warning, though she had managed to avoid conflict with them before. Rontos, Scyks, Wraids, and worse: Sand Demons, Krayt Dragons. At least she didn’t have to worry about Sarlaccs. Those things didn’t move much.

“Hello there, missy!” a voice called from behind her, false sweet. “Are you lost? Can we…  _ help _ you?”

She turned to face the speaker. There were four of them, Weequays wearing armor with paint so faded by the sun that it appeared colorless. They were armed with blasters, though two had large axes strapped on their backs.

“Bandits,” Master Kai said.

“What are you doing here?” Jaesa asked. She was certain she hadn’t been followed. Had this been a chance meeting? Had the four been, perhaps, watching these doors?

“We own this Canyon,” the speaker grinned. “We own this planet. And now we own you too.”

“Take it up with the Sand People,” Jaesa said, nodding behind them. 

The Weequays laughed. “You can’t get me with the old ‘Look out behind you’ trick, missy!”

“Was worth a try, I suppose.”

At that moment, the Tuskens who had been waiting behind them fell upon them, making quick work of them before they even had time to cry out in surprise. Indeed, Tatooine was full of dangers.

Jaesa raised her open palms away from her body in a gesture universally understood as “Easy fellas!”

The Sand People regarded her for a moment, then a trio broke away from the small group and approached her. Contrary to popular belief, these people weren’t rapacious killers. They could be reasoned with, though they learned quickly which groups attacked them on sight.

As they came closer, the leader began speaking to his comrades in the honking speech of his people. To Jaesa, he spoke in hand signs; the speech of the Sand people was notoriously hard for outsiders to learn, nor could their vocal cords imitate the speech of other races. So they compensated using universal sign language, though many understood Basic, Huttese, and Jawa, even if they couldn’t speak it.

“I remember you, Young One,” it said. “What brings you back to our Home?”

“You are of Chief Ykk’Arr’Ishhrll’s tribe?”

“We are.”

She was surprised. There were hundreds of tribes of Tusken. That she would chance upon one that she was already familiar with… Next to her, Master Kai burst into laughter, unseen by the Tusken.

She began speaking… or rather  _ signing _ as rapidly as she dared. She told them about the Disturbance in the Force, and the restless dead. She concluded by saying that a relic key to their victory sat within. The Leader was disturbed.

“There is something dark within,” he answered eventually. “Our Shamans do not like the feel. We have kept watch so that no one unleashed it upon the world.”

“Your Shamans are truly wise,” Jaesa replied. “For Darth Nox locked away her darkest secrets here, that the Galaxy must forget except in its most desperate need. And we are in desperate need, else we would not be here.”

“We?”

“Yes,” she said. “The shade of my Master is with me. She seeks to help redress this disturbance.”

Kai’rene arched an eyebrow, then nodded. She manifested, appearing for the Tusken to see her. They were deeply alarmed to see her shimmering form, honking and grunting in dismay. 

“We need to get in, Friend,” Jaesa pleaded once they had calmed down somewhat. “We seek the artifact, and safe passage back out.”

“You have already earned safe passage,” the leader replied. “When you performed the holiest rite. We will inform our brethren. None of the tribes will contest your leaving with the relic.”

“I will return it when we are done,” Jaesa answered. “For it is clearly safe in your keeping.”

The Tusken nodded. “We must go… we must seek the Shamans. All the Shamans, everywhere. A great many things need to be discussed if what you say is true.”

They disappeared into the canyons. The Exile beamed. “That went  _ very _ well! I can see why your Master has such confidence in you.”

* * *

Master Kai’s code was good. It got them through the door in one piece. Jaesa braced for signs of any eldritch Dark Side energies of the menacing kind stirring, to see if they’d triggered some trap. She sighed in relief when she Sensed none. Darth Nox may be a decent person herself, but she was still among the most fearsome beings alive.

She walked deeper into the antechamber with only the greatest reluctance, for a Dark power crackled in the air. Thankfully, the droid caretakers were doing a good job keeping the place neat, and the lights lit. If it had been dark and gloomy and covered in cobwebs, she didn’t know she’d be brave enough to proceed.

“Hurry, Jaesa,” her Master told her. “I don’t like the look of this.”

“Nor do I,” Raya shivered. “Was it like this last time you were here?”

“I was never here,” Master Kai answered. “I was only told about it long after Nox had given up on the place.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“This was where she intended to leave the face of Darth Nox behind for good,” the tall ghost whispered. “To leave the Sith, the Empire, the war even, and find a peaceful, comfortable new life.”

“Really?” Jaesa was startled. She’d never known. “But she didn’t, did she? What changed?”

“Everything did,” Master Kai grimaced, but she never got a chance to explain further. She took another step onto a random spot that was no different from any other tile on the floor, and a fountain of dark violet lightning erupted at her feet, and the only thing louder than the thunder was her tortured scream.

* * *

Raya had seen ghosts in pain before. She had seen them hurt, flail, howl, and thrash. But this, this was different. The storm was actually having an effect on Kai’rene’s astral body, affecting it somehow.

“Master!” Jaesa cried once she shook off her astonishment, and moved to assist, but Raya Seized her with the Force. She tried to be as gentle as she could: death had brought her much closer to the Force, and therefore her abilities were exponentially more powerful than when she had been flesh and blood. But Jaesa still screamed in pain, was almost Crushed into a pulp. She seemed to think, for a moment, that it was another trap, but then she turned her eyes to Raya, who winced.

“I’m sorry, Jaesa,” she said, shouting above the din. “You must not get caught up in that too! See if you can find another way to free Kai’rene. And quickly.”

Jaesa, now released from Raya’s Grip, hopped desperately from one foot to the other. “How?” she whimpered. “How? What can we do?”

Raya looked around the room, her eyes lingering at the outer edges.  _ What… is that? No! _

She swiftly Pulled at the carpet, Jaesa leaping aside with a startled cry to avoid being swept off her feet. Beneath the carpet, the floor was mostly white limestone, but it was inlaid with a mosaic in red enamel. The mosaic was a giant ritual circle, and Kai’rene stood at the convergence of seven rune-inscribed lines.

“Sever the lines!” she yelled, and Jaesa sprung into action. She activated her green saberstaff, and got to work slashing at the lines. Each line severed noticeably reduced the Power flowing through Kai’rene, and eventually when the last one was severed, she fell to the floor gasping.

* * *

Even as she was impaled by the lightning trap, Kai’rene retained the ability to think, and this she did. Triple time. She was no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Energy on a tremendous scale coursed through her body, so much that it was a wonder where it all came from. How was it even able to harm her?

She had seen Sith ghosts being constrained, tortured even, but unlike those poor wandering souls. she had accepted death. Become one with the Force. She was not as easily exploited as they were, as easily reminded of her earthly mortality as the restless ones were. 

Darth Nox... curse that woman! Who else could come up with a way to do the impossible? And why the kriff hadn’t she told Kai’rene about this trap? As fast as Kai’rene’s mind was working, she could see no way out of her current predicament. She could dimly tell that her companions had sprung into action, but it was in excruciatingly slow motion. She winced further. Had her perception of time been warped?

A familiar voice boomed in her head.  _ Who comes? _

_ “Kai’rene,” _ she thought back. “ _ Darth Prowle!” _ She added when the presence in her head emanated confusion. “ _ Once the Emperor’s Wrath.” _

The presence recoiled.  _ YOU? _ It barked.  _ Why are you here? How did you find out about this place? Does the Emperor covet my secrets? _

Oh great! Was this imprint made before her friendship with the real Nox was forged? If so, it would be infinitely trickier. She remembered how wary the Twi’lek had been of her on their first meeting.

_“The Emperor is dead!”_ She told it desperately. _“Or at least, He no longer controls the Empire.I know because you told me yourself!_ _We were friends for many years after the attack on Tython!”_

_ The attack… on TYTHON? Has the Empire destroyed the Jedi? The Republic? _

_ “Still around,” _ she reassured the imprint.  _ “It was only a small raid. We exploited a momentary lapse in defense. It’s a long story.” _

_ You will tell it  _ **_all_ ** _ to me! _ The entity commanded. _ Make me believe you! And why do you speak of our friendship as though it is a thing of the past? _

_ “Can’t you sense it?” _ Kai’rene hollered.  _ “I’m  _ dead _! I fell defending the Empire!” _

Now the imitation of Nox was truly taken aback. It inspected her for a few long moments.  _ You speak the truth!  _ It exclaimed at last. 

Kai’rene tried to shift, unclenching herself from the painfully tight ball she’d become. “ _ Look, would you believe me about our friendship if I told you the passphrase to your Holocron? _ She asked.  _ You told it to me. The real you is still alive, by the way, though she’s far away. ‘The Dead sleep lightly, they await the call to arms, and a Warden comes to sound it. The four winds are frozen with fear’.” _

_ That is indeed the passphrase to my holocron, _ the ghost admitted reluctantly.

_ “Please, release me!” _ Kai’rene begged.  _ “There’s some horrible shit unfolding in the World of the Dead of all places. We need your holocron to set things right again!” _

_ So you say, _ the shade challenged.  _ I still don’t trust you. You could have gotten that passphrase through any number of ways. I evidently did not tell you about the Sand’s Scrutiny, else we wouldn’t be here.  _

Kai’rene groaned. This pale imitation was every bit as shrewd as the real thing.  _ “Scrutiny?” _ She asked.  _ “What are you scrutinizing?” _

In response, she felt her memories all but pulled out of her head and examined by the unseen clone.  _ “Just what are you looking for?” _ she asked it.

_ Duplicity. _

The pain actually increased a hundredfold. Kai’rene felt it overtake her, and all conscious thought faded as her memories took center stage. They swam past her rapidly, an unending blur, though sometimes her frantic mind was able to linger on them as they played.

* * *

Kai’rene was less than four years old. A tall red-headed woman with laughing amber eyes danced as she held her high above her head. There was s Shuttle behind her, all ready to take off.

Kai’rene squealed in delight, towering above Umi, Iki, and Duram. She was laughing so hard that tears fell from her eyes. Her mother pulled her into her arms and planted a big kiss on her belly, then one on her cheek, prompting an even bigger fit of giggles from her daughter.

“Master Rii’yav,” Duram said respectfully. “Must you leave already? You were only here for a few days.”

“The demands of war,” her Mother replied, with regret. “You know, I’ve never been more reluctant to head into battle. Little Kai has already grown so much since I last saw her! I feel like I’m missing out.”

“So does she,” the head servant replied. “She’s always so heartbroken to see you leave.”

“Well, maybe I can ask for an extended leave after my next mission,” Rii’yav grinned, as she rocked her little girl in her arms. “Darth Angral owes me a few favors after all.” 

With one final kiss, she set her little girl down. “I will be back as soon as I can, Kai,” she grinned. “Promise Mama you’ll be a good girl?”

“Yes Mama!” Kai’rene beamed back, holding an imaginary lightsaber. “I’ll protect everyone while you’re gone! I’ll become the greatest blade in the galaxy when you come home again!”

“That’s my girl!” She patted her head roughly, then stood. She mounted the shuttle, and the door closed behind her.

* * *

Kai’rene was five years old. “When will Mama come back?” she pressed Iki. The pureblood Sith servant bit her lip and wouldn’t look at her charge. “Soon,” she tried to soothe her. “Soon! Here, look, it’s Uvia’s! Your favorite bakery! Let’s get a cake, to celebrate your birthday!” But Kai’rene stubbornly dug her heels and shook her head. She refused to celebrate her birthday until her mother returned. “I will not eat cake again until Mama returns,” she said. “I’ll remain four forever until she does!” And she didn’t. She had never eaten another crumb for the rest of her life.

Now that she thought about it, she had died much younger than Rii’yav. Even though some would say she accomplished much more, shot up to dizzying heights, before it ended. She had even managed to—almost, anyway—become the greatest blade in the galaxy.

* * *

Kai’rene was ten. She was sleeping over at Luri’s house and had chanced upon a report belonging to her father. It had been lying there innocently on the messy dining table. A part of her wanted to immediately throw away the file—it was confidential information after all. To reprimand Luri’s father for keeping such information where anyone could chance upon it—he had a big household after all. More servants than she did. Luri had five brothers and a sister, Elara, who had just started her military career. 

But the other part was entranced by a specific set of words on the page: “Estimated Death count: 3,987,000,000,000 Republic lives, 3,785,000,000,000. For a total of… Kai’rene tried a fast total but she sucked at math. Over 7 trillion, that was for sure! Is this what the war had cost both sides? Her Mother—killed six years ago, the news of which left her catatonic for almost four months—had been just one of over  _ seven trillion people  _ killed by the war.

Kai’rene hastily went through the report. There were words there she didn’t fully understand, but the message was clear enough: both Republic and Empire gave official estimates that were much smaller than the real figures. Around a hundred and eighty billion Republic, and a hundred and sixty five billion Imperial. But there were so many, many,  _ many _ more killed who somehow… didn’t count. Slaves. Petty criminals. Sex workers. Spacers. Undocumeted refugees, transients and vagrants, whatever that meant.

For a second, Kai’rene was hearing the news about her Mother again. Only, she was hearing it, feeling it—in her mind—seven and a half trillion times.

Force, have mercy! She begged. Then, and now. How many more had died since that report had even been made? What would the death toll stand at now? Hundreds of trillions? For a moment she forgot her own pain as the horror sunk back in. She hoped someone could end this cycle.

* * *

Kai’rene was fourteen, and now studying in Ziost Academy. She was laughing as she finished her circuit around the obstacle course. A light year ahead of the runner up, who was crawling his way to her as she cheered her competition on. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw an Overseer seizing a slave and start yelling at him. He killed the slave by crushing his throat with a knife-hand. The poor man fell to the floor gasping for breath. Kai’rene felt stricken, but was unable to show any weakness here in the light of day.

Instead, she continued to smile, continued to cheer, as a man died choking right within earshot.

* * *

Kai’rene was fifteen, and had cleared Ziost Academy with honors. She was on a shuttle bound for Korriban. She—.

With a sound of a hundred sheets of veda cloth tearing, and a thousand glass plates breaking, the trip down memory lane came screeching to a halt. Although the pain slowly left her, Kai’rene gasped in shock as a powerful shockwave rippled through her. She felt herself collapse onto the floor, darkness creeping into her vision, and the world ended.

* * *

  
  
  



	13. The Secret Treasures of Darth Nox

* * *

**The Vault of Darth Nox, Beggar’s Canyon** **  
** **Tatooine**

Jaesa sat helplessly by as her Master remained unconscious. She couldn’t hold Master Kai’s insubstantial body, and it appeared that nor could Raya. Even ghosts could not handle ghosts, it seemed.

The small Jedi ghost seemed deeply concerned as well, and Jaesa had a feeling she was also more unnerved than she was letting on. She also seemed more… transparent than before. Was it something to do with her use of the Force? Jaesa had only enough energy to toss her a mutinous glare as she rubbed her shoulders, elbows, knees, and chest. That Grip had almost squashed her like an overripe grape! 

“I’m so sorry,” the Exile repeated again, catching her expression. “My Power is many times more potent as a ghost. I couldn’t let you get near Kai’rene, for fear that you may also get caught up in the trap.”

“I accepted your apology,” Jaesa said grudgingly. “Doesn’t make it hurt less though.”

They watched Kai’rene in silence for a while. “I’m afraid we’re losing time,” Raya said, her voice noticeably thinner and wispier than it had been when they’d set foot in the room. “You can no longer wait for your Master to wake. We must leave her here, and brave the depths of Darth Nox’s Vault before I am spent. With luck, she will be awake when we return.”

Jaesa favored her with another glare. “I cannot leave her behind. Not again!”

A shadow of ancient pain crossed the ghost’s face. “I understand. Force help me, but I do. But I have to insist. I am fading, but I Sense that she is as well. We cannot remain on this side for very long, me because my spirit has been at rest for centuries, and her for the ordeal she has just endured. Her only chance is to be housed may be this ritual. To be housed in your body. We must press on, for her sake and yours. For everyone’s, everywhere.”

Jaesa looked down at her Master’s drawn face. She could Sense it too; Master Kai was fading as well, though in a different way. She was persuaded, but only just.

“Will you stay with her?” Jaesa asked.

“I suspect your need is greater than hers,” Raya said. “She should be safe enough here, now that the trap is gone.”

Jaesa nodded and rose. As she stood, her joints creaked slightly, for she had unthinkingly sat in quite an uncomfortable posture in her worry. She was ready to move deeper into the Vault.

* * *

Progress was slow, and very careful. Both women scanned every inch of the rooms for traps as they progressed, and every now and again they did find a few. Jaesa was grateful for the Exile’s presence. Her eyes were keener, and her sense of danger was much more finely tuned; Jaesa’s own Senses were more attuned with the hearts and minds of the living.

Alert, the Exile was quick to spot traps, whether mundane, alchemical, or sorcerous that Jaesa didn’t think she had a prayer of a chance at spotting. Every time they avoided one, Jaesa remembered what had befallen her Master, and felt a mixture of fear and worry. What unspeakable horrors had they just avoided, she asked herself.

A part of her resented Darth Nox for not warning them about the traps, but she remembered how stricken the woman had been at Master Kai’s words. This was the woman who had famously resisted Arcann’s determined efforts to break her. Whatever had shaken her so badly had clearly driven any thoughts of warning them right out of her head.

Also… this long, almost unending circular corridor... just how big was this damn vault? Even accounting for their slow pace, they must have been walking along for hours. Surely the vault wasn’t that long? Had she excavated miles of tunnels down here? Into the canyon rocks? How could she, or anyone, have kept such a thing secret… unless...

_ Oh no… _

“Master Raya?” Jaesa whispered. “Does this corridor feel  _ too _ long to you?”

“What?” the ghost started. “Oh kriff... We got caught in another trap, didn’t we?”

“I’m afraid so.”

The small ghost looked about helplessly. “Like a bug in a jar, again.  _ Again! _ You’d think one would learn after a million times, but no, I still walk right into them.”

“To be fair, Darth Nox is the most subtle person I know,” Jaesa said, running a hand through her hair. “For all we know, she made that first trap so easy to see specifically to hide the nature of her next trap.”

The Exile looked like she was only half listening, her eyes darting over every crack and crevice of the hallway, looking for a way to break whatever spell held them. Hours passed.

“We’re nicely caught now, aren’t we?” Jaesa asked, barely able to contain her panic now. How her voice trembled! “The way forward seems closed to us.”

The Exile looked up. “Let us turn back then,” she suggested glumly. Jaesa gaped at her. “But we can’t give up!” She cried.

“No, but we can withdraw and regroup,” the ghost said. “Perhaps we can reach out to Darth Nox again. She might tell us everything we need to know, even how to wake Kai’rene.” 

Jaesa faltered. “Master Kai…” she whispered. It was strange, but being given the option to turn back was having a calming effect on her. “But we can’t… we can’t expect to reach Lord Nox again, can we? She’s on an occupied world, dealing with her own problems. We can’t bother her every time we stumble.”

“Perhaps not,” the Exile shrugged. “But these traps are of her making. Asking her might be better than blindly inching forward and jumping at… jumping at shadows…” her expression changed. Sharpened.

“What is it?” Jaesa asked, feeling hopeful.

“The shadows…” Master Kol whispered, eyes returned to looking around the room. She squinted, knelt with her face inches from the floor, and gasped. “Look! It’s so thin we almost can’t even see it!” 

Jaesa hurried forward and looked for whatever it was that had caught the Exile’s attention. She finally saw it; the faintest of shadows tracing an arcane script on the floor. She exhaled sharply. 

A ritual circle drawn with shadows! How exceedingly clever!

The Exile looked up at the only light in the room. “There’s a pattern on the bottom of that light’s outer casing.  _ It _ is responsible for this circle, and this trap!”

Jaesa didn’t need further prompting. She Reached out, seized the light globe, and unscrewed it from its socket. The room was covered in a sudden pitch darkness, and she ignited her lightsaber to fight back the blackness. There, where the wall had seemed to curve and disappear ahead of them, it now had a door. The door to the previous room—the third after leaving Master Kai’s ghost behind—was a few feet behind them.

She shivered. “Remind me  _ never _ to get Nox mad at me for realsies. Please. I don’t think anyone could survive her ire.”

The Exile nodded shakily, walking to the door. She looked again for other traps as she advanced, for false ceilings or floors that may hide more traps. She found none, and it did not seem to do much for her nerves. 

Jaesa jogged up to her, opening the door to the next room, hoping it was the stairwell to the basement. But it wasn’t: it was a modest apartment that she found on the other side.

* * *

The apartment was a simply furnished but spacious one, with eight medium bedrooms, each with their own fresher. The main hall had a kitchen attached, a holotable, a small shelf full of datacards. Books. Entertainment, not study material. Furthermore, one of the footlockers had seven Blastech T-189 blasters neatly packed inside them. There were also dummies against one wall for practice.

The storeroom was big enough to hold months’ worth of provisions for the eight residents of this apartment. It also had a small fortune in precious stones, enough to maybe buy a house on Alderaan. Or an estate on a much more remote world.

And there were no traps either, that they could tell; hours of careful searching had revealed nothing.

What was this place? Even as she had that thought, Jaesa heard the Exile calling for her.

She ran in search of her, finding her in one of the bedrooms, the middle one. The ghost was standing next to the bed, looking at holo stills on the bedside table. Jaesa carefully edged forward and looked at them. They were all Twi’leks in these stills, dressed in filthy clothes and equipped with shock collars. There was a family resemblance among them, and she knew at once they were family.

“This is her,” she said, pointing at one Twi’leks. One that was carrying a pair of babies. “She looks so young! And these children… Do you think they are her own?”

“Yes,” the Exile confirmed. “Or at least, she loved them deeply. And she looks newly pregnant once more, to me. Not counting Nox herself, that’s nine family members, though some may have died since these were taken. The life of a slave is hard.”

“So you think…” Jaesa prompted.

“I think that Darth Nox once intended to save her family, bring them here. And perhaps, afterwards, to disappear with them. For this place is intended as a hideout.”

“But something changed,” Jaesa guessed. “For if she still had family then, she doesn’t now. By all accounts, Vaylin is all she lives for now.”

“They are dead then,” the Exile said sadly. “And her memories of her family is something she buried here, along with her other, more dangerous secrets.”

For a while, they said nothing. Then the Exile spoke up again. “This room, this hideout… it holds nothing for us. She would not endanger her family with more traps and proximity to her Sith secrets. The holocron is likely in a branch from another room. Behind a hidden door, perhaps.”

Jaesa sighed. “Back to searching then.”

* * *

As it happened, there was no hidden door. The Holocron was hidden in plain sight, in the room before the one they’d spent hours trapped inside. So intent had they been in looking for traps, they had failed to study the pyramid-shaped lights on the wall.

“It’s this one,” Jaesa said, pointing at one whose light was more organic and sinister than the others.

“Give it the pass phrase then,” the Exile suggested. “See if that unlocks it.”

“Need is important,” Jaesa muttered, remembering the Sith’s instructions. She had also memorized the pass phrase in Old Sith, as she’d said.  _ “The Dead sleep lightly, they await the call to arms, and a Warden comes to sound it. The four winds are frozen with fear,” _ she recited.

There was no indication the mechanism had acknowledged her attempt. She began the second recital.

_ “The Dead sleep lightly, they await the call to arms, and a Warden comes to sound it. The four winds are frozen with fear.” _

And still nothing happened. Jaesa was beginning to think she might have figured it out wrong.

_ “The Dead sleep lightly, they await the call to arms, and a Warden comes to sound it. The four winds are frozen with fear.” _

The small pyramid responded at last, the lights changing from pale white to an eager purple. It carefully left its housing and hovered a foot above its housing. Jaesa carefully reached out and took it. “We have it at last!” she breathed with relief.

“Hurry,” the Exile said urgently. “See what you can discover.”

Jaesa did as she was bid, and activated the Holocron. The Gatekeeper recognized her as the Wrath’s apprentice, but seemed to have no recollection of their interactions. It, and perhaps this wholebase, had been finalized and abandoned before the death of Darth Arkous. But she wasted no time challenging Jaesa’s claim that they were acquainted.

“If you’ve gotten through the traps, then you have, by default, earned the right to these secrets,” the Gatekeeper said. “What do you wish to know?”

“The Forcewalking Ritual,” Jaesa asked. “Teach me. Please.”

The Gatekeeper nodded. “To start with, there’s a potion you need to drink. To make, first. It’s not something you just happen to be carrying. The ingredients should be right here in the safehouse. Once you’ve taken the potion, I can teach you the ritual.”

* * *

The potion took almost a week to brew, by which time the Exile had started to become a faint echo. Oftentimes, she was distracted and unfocused, as though she was already in the Other World, and had to rematerialize when Jaesa had need of her.

Master Kai didn’t wake either.

How much time had they lost? A week, plus another two days getting through the traps initially. She felt deeply grateful for Master Kai’s wisdom in not wasting any time when it was possible. If they had gone to Odessen to call Nox from there, and waited for a regular check-in, they might have lost so much more.

Still, Jaesa felt deeply alone now, with both ghosts indisposed as they were. She snorted.  _ Ghosts are my only company these days! _

She had spent the week learning the ritual itself, and realized there were other reasons why her pedestrian attempt failed. For instance, there needed to be a few inscriptions on the hands of the invoker. Darth Nox had tattooed these onto her palms, in a color very similar to her skin’s to hide it. Without the inscription, without the specific way of invoking the Force, the ritual dance was just a dance. Jaesa felt a little embarrassed. Of course it had been more than just that! Nox wouldn’t have performed it in front of her otherwise!

But she couldn’t help feeling frustrated at the wasted time: Nox had picked it up within a few hours. Not to mention, the poison had already been ready when she’d walked into Ergast’s tomb. 

Every second lost was a second both of her companions faded just a bit more.

As she studied, she also took a closer look at the articles and decorations in the safehouse. A good number of them were just decorations, but every now and then she uncovered a relic of true Power; catalysts for darker rituals recorded within the Holocron.

At night, Jaesa would curl up in one of the bedrooms, hoping that she could save Master Kai. And after that, save the Force itself.

_ No pressure. _

* * *

  
  



	14. The Binding

* * *

**Tatooine**

When the week had passed and the potion was done stewing, Jaesa was, at last, ready to begin the ritual. She had spent much of the time practicing, getting the hand gestures right, the arcane scribbles, the chant, the weaving of the Force Flow… to think there had been this much missing from her previous attempt! No wonder she’d failed.

In her spare time, she had tried getting to know Darth Nox better, through her Gatekeeper. The Imitation Nox had obliged readily enough, the real one having apparently not assumed that her Holocron would be found again in her lifetime. It answered many of her questions readily, but with a great deal of mockery in her tone. This version of Nox possessed a rather mischievous wit and an animated way of speaking, frequently modulating her voice into falsettos or false grave notes, playing with her slender eyebrows and the tilt of her head to accentuate her points. A smile always picked up the curve of her lips just so, leaving Jaesa to wonder if the image were silently mocking her, and everything she said.

This was the Nox she never knew, she thought. The Nox before she started working with Master Kai. A younger, more reserved, and possessed of more life. And she thought she understood why: when she had left this holocron behind, Nox had been making final preparations to abandon the Sith Empire. To take her family—newly freed from slavery—and go into hiding. She had even chosen a world, and had a new life history ready on hand; complete with false documents. However, while the holocron had knowledge of what its creator was planning, it did not know where she intended to live out her civilian life, or under what alias. All it knew was that when the real Nox had left it behind, she had been leaving to receive her family at an undisclosed location. After this, she would bring her family here, to this safe house, where they would spend a few months familiarizing themselves with their new lives. Waiting for the initial commotion surrounding her disappearance to die down. After which they would disappear.

But she had never returned, meaning that her family’s liberation had not gone as planned.

She told some things to the Gatekeeper as well, and it seemed quite interested in what she had to say; the details of the Revan Reborn incident, the alliance on Rishi, return of the Sith Emperor at Yavin IV, the destruction of Ziost, and the invasion of Zakuul.

“Well, well,” it smiled sardonically, shaking its head. “I always thought that if I grew powerful enough, I’d be shaping events around me. That I’d be in complete control of my own destiny. To think that my life’s trajectory shifted this far out of my expectations… shows how, in the end, the Galaxy cares naught for us mites and motes. Sith, Jedi, slave, Emperor, Chancellor, Warrior, Sorcerer, soldier, pilot… none can challenge fate. Or outrun it. The universe makes fools of us all.”

* * *

Playful though it might be, the image was not imperturbable. It grew shocked and worried when they finally got on the subject of the ghost Jaesa wanted to bond.

“So, what’s next?” it asked. “You had a particular ghost in mind to bind,Or is a big hunt the next on your lofty agenda?”

“She’s here,” Jaesa said, feeling worried about her Master, who had still not regained consciousness. “In fact, maybe you can tell me how to help her. She got caught in one of your traps right after we entered the building. Hasn’t woken up since.”

The hologram stared at her with its mouth hanging low and eyebrows raised. “Tell me  _ everything,” _ she said at last. “Leave out no detail.”

Her expression grew more alarmed as Jaesa spoke. When she finally finished speaking, the gatekeeper paced around for a good while as it scoured through the Holocrons databanks for answers to what had happened.

“That thing your Master’s ghost triggered,” it said after it was done. “It was part trap, but part trial. The Scrutiny, it was called, a rather banal name, but to the point,” it exhaled. “The Scrutiny is exactly what it sounds like; a test to see who comes, and why. It would, over the course of ten minutes, look through the subject’s entire life, and decide whether or not it was worthy of my secrets. But you disrupted the spell before it could do its work. It started combing through her memories, but was interrupted. A living being would be stripped of its memories for good. But a ghost? There’s no telling how it affected her. I didn’t even know ghosts  _ could _ be affected! Thanaton always did say I was reckless…”

Jaesa was horrified. “Is there any way I can help her?”

“None that I know of,” the gatekeeper said. “I have never studied this kind of ghost before. Spirits of Dark Side practitioners are… likely different. Tied to this world. Too absorbed in themselves. But your Master is from the Other side… an entity that had found peace. The best you can do is go ahead with the binding ritual, and hope that your own mind—and especially the memories you have of her—fills the holes in her head. Eventually.”

“Understood.”

“This, of course, means that your Master might not willingly acquiesce to the binding. Even if she did wake. You must force it into submission. Have you the Will to do that? To get the will of she who was named ‘Emperor’s Wrath’ to bow down to you?”

Jaesa could not bring herself to reply.

“If you cannot, your Master may not recover. And your mission might be in jeopardy too, unless another spirit agrees to help you.”

Jaesa barely managed to shove away her panic for her Master, and considered her urgent mission instead, a mission for which she had literally returned from the dead to perform. She glanced at Master Raya, humming idly to herself in the corner, barely perceptible. She was almost gone. Could she be persuaded to help if Jaesa couldn’t bind Master Kai? Could she be trusted to get a message to the other side, that other help was needed? And what of time? Did they have enough of it? So much had been wasted already in reaching this holocron.

No. Force help them, she and her Master were the only ones capable of. She silently cursed Nox again for not warning them properly about her traps.

“This is the only way,” Jaesa said aloud. “I have no choice. Better hope this works, or the Force may change forever. Even die.”

That last statement shook the Gatekeeper more thoroughly than the information about the botched Scrutiny had.

*

Jaesa stood in front of her forced Master’s spirit, gathering her nerve. She forced the potion through her lips, her fingers tight and shaking around the cup. It tasted like frozen smoke, both burning and chilling her throat as it went down. She coughed and sputtered, willing herself to drink the potion rather than spit it all out.

As more of the liquid made its way into her belly, she felt the burning cold permeate every corner of her body, and she fell unconscious.

Except… she didn’t. Her body was asleep, but her mind wasn’t. It had awakened in the unconscious realm, just as Nox’s image had told her it would. She looked around in fascination at the flows in the Force, which were sharper and visible to her naked eye now. Here and there, the flows crushed or pulled against each other, leaving brittle zones in their streams that intrigued and terrified Jaesa. 

_ I wonder what would happen if these… faultlines… cracked? _ She wondered.  _ Or broke? _

But she heard a moan that instantly drove away all other concerns from her head. 

“Master!” she squealed, and staggered towards the prone spirit— who, in this plane, was slightly more… ‘alive’, for want of a better term. It breathed and groaned. It whispered pleadingly, and its eyes were screwed up in pain. In  _ anger. _

The hologram’s words returned to Jaesa’s head.  _ “An angry ghost cannot be bound. You must first Pacify it.” _

Bracing herself, she began the first phase of the ritual.  _ Relax, my Master, _ she thought, and unleashed the Power she had clenched between her hands.

* * *

Kai’rene wandered the wastes aimlessly. She couldn’t tell if she was going anywhere at all, no matter how fast she ran. Or how long. In every direction, as far as the eye could see, was a featureless dark floor meeting an equally dark sky on the horizon. There were no obstacles, no inclines, no walls, no doors. Just unending running.

And she was starting to feel beaten. She was wailing at the very top of her lungs, screeching herself hoarse. She had promised Mama she would be strong, but she had failed. She was weak. She had lost her fight, just as she had lost Mama. 

_ Mama is lost? How? When? Why? _

For a second, doubt came. Mama lost? That couldn’t happen! Mama was the Lord of House Rook! The Consul of Kouhaush-Rook! Nobody could beat her!

But something had killed her. She knew that, though she didn’t know why she knew. She didn’t remember… she didn’t remember! 

“Mama!” she cried. “Mama!”

No voice answered, and she despaired once again. But before she succumbed to a fresh wave of tears, a light sprang up from the ground in front of her; a column that was as wide as she was, and disappeared into the dark sky above. Out of it emerged a woman with dark hair and purple robes. On her shoulder was the Drexl of House Rook, but Kai’rene had never seen her before.

She wore a large smile, too, the same one her Mama had when she came home to visit. One look at it, and Kai’rene forgot all of her fears and misgivings, and charged straight into the woman’s arms, her tears this time from relief.

* * *

To say that Jaesa would have known something was wrong even without Darth Nox’s suspicions would be a massive understatement.

Master Kai looked just as she had appeared before. But there was no mistaking the feel of her mind, or her behavior: it was soft as a child’s. And she was weeping, inconsolably. Granted, for all Jaesa knew this ordeal had been far above and beyond anything her Master had faced in real life, but she could never recall Master Kai’s composure even coming close to cracking. Even on the day Quinn had betrayed her, she had shrugged it off with her normal nonchalance. Forget about Baras.

Jaesa had always assumed her Master was as implaccable as the stars themselves. To see her weep like this, child-like or not… 

“Master,” Jaesa said hesitantly, patting the back of Kai’rene’s head. “Do you remember me?”

Sniffling and hiccuping profusely, Master Kai shook her head. “No… er yoo Umi’s girl?”

“No, Master. I’m your apprentice. My name is Jaesa Willsaam.”

Her Master barely seemed to be comprehending her words. She stared back at her through teary eyes for a few heartbeats before asking. “Yoo er my Apprenniss? Was it a game? Were we playing? Or yoo  _ wan’ ta be  _ my Apprenniss when I become a Lord?”

“Well actually…”

“Where’s Mama?” Master Kai asked. “ _ You _ look like Mama. At least… yoo smile like Mama. I want my Mama!”

“Mama’s not here, Master,” Jaesa said, pushing down her feeling of uncertainty. “But I need you to listen to me. I need to bind you.”

Her master blinked. “‘Bind’? Wha’ duzz tha’ mean?”

“It means… that we’ll have an invisible rope tying us together for a little while. We’ll both be together for… for however long.”

“Will you take me away from this place? It’s so dark. I scared.”

“I—I think so. I’ll be with you.”

That seemed enough for her. A determined light shone in her eye, showing Jaesa a glimpse of the woman she had been. “Alright then. Let’s go!”

Taking her answer for assent, Jaesa began the second phase of the ritual. When she finished her intonation, she felt it begin to take effect, and woke up in the physical plane. It began as a blossoming and explosive growth of her power, to double, triple, or even quadruple in strength. She felt her senses grow keener too, and knew that the ritual—modified by Nox before recording—had allowed her to gain some of her Master’s former agility and prowess. She knew with certainty now, that she was a swordsman almost on Master Kai’s level now, held back only by her lack of physical strength and reach. 

And then she felt her mind connect to her Master’s; a mild brush followed by the sensation of another pair of eyes opening, of another set of memories and thoughts playing softly just behind her eyes. And then, for what felt like the first time in her life… she awoke.

* * *

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Book 3, Chapter 14: The Thaw  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/71271804


	15. The New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before this: EW Book 3, Chapter 15: Preparations  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/71330907

* * *

**Tatooine**

When Jaesa woke up, the Exile was gone, or almost so; she could sense a slight presence on the Force, just on the edge of her Senses. But physically, there was no longer any sign. No hazy outline, no distorted echoes, and no chills on the skin. Master Kai was there, however, and tied closer to her heart than she had ever dreamed possible. It was not even like a Force Bond, but deeper. In ways she couldn’t even describe.

It was like they shared one body, and were yet two distinct people. She found her Power amplified almost fivefold, and as she moved through the motions of her early morning saber drills, she realized that her actions were far sharper, precise, and economical. Her stamina was much higher than it had been at her peak: closer, she suspected, to Master Kai’s levels. 

Her discovery intrigued her, and she stepped out into the Canyon for a more thorough test of her new abilities. Unfortunately, the second she stepped outside, she was almost felled by an intense wave of heat: she hadn’t realized it, but despite the safehouse being a rather spartan building, it was still cool and pleasant.

Out here though, it was sweltering hot. She frowned for a moment; even her first trip into the desert hadn’t been  _ this _ hard on her. Perhaps this was one of the downsides of being bonded to Master Kai, notorious for despising hot climes, and who had conversely seemed to enjoy the frigid cold of Hoth. Had it been like this for her, Jaesa wondered? All the times she complained about the heat, did she mean it was almost literally torture for her to endure?

She suddenly felt a pity for her old Master. She also realized, with a surge of pride and respect, that Master Kai had fought and bested her first Jedi Master while so encumbered. Truly, she had been a remarkable woman!

But other thoughts filled her head… was this why Master Kai had set her trap for Arcann on Hoth? Because the cold empowered her so? Was it also why she had chosen that world for her possible grave? She always had said that she would be grateful if she could decide where she fell, and how. A hundred other such questions occurred to her, and she wondered if she was gaining a new perspective to her Master, a depth she had never considered.

For the present, however, Master Kai was still child-like in her manner. Jaesa dearly hoped she would recover soon. Other than her own desire to be with her Master again, she really needed her help and input on, as she had come to call it, the ‘Weakening Walls’ situation.

Shaking herself back into the present, she leapt into the canyon. Sprinting as fast as she could, she wove her way around the many outcroppings of rock. She ducked and rolled, leapt and ran on the very walls to avoid losing momentum. There were some predators around, though most seemed to prefer a less nimble prey to catch. The few that did chase her were left to eat her dust. Eventually, she reached the end of the canyon, at which point—pleased to find she still had some wind in her sails—she turned around and made her way back to the hideout. Once there, she took a break before her next test.

She had, of course, kept as many records of her Master’s duels as she could get her hands on, including the three memorable sparring matches with Master Arro. She had watched them eagerly, over and over and over and over again, and she knew the duels from start to finish by now.

Calling on that memory, she imagined herself squaring off against the Jedi Battle master. She took a few minutes to get his initial assault into her head, then began to move in response to the imaginary Arro. She was pleased to see that she unconsciously adjusted her own stance and movements to her preferred saberstaff, rather than Master Kai’s single saber style. 

She ran through her hastily imagined simulation, attempting to match Arro as her Master had, and for a brief time, she succeeded. She was pleased; this was far beyond what she was once capable of, though of course she didn’t last nearly as long as Master Kai had. Nor could she find a gap in Arro’s relentless attack to slip in a few counters of her own.

But still, she had a new mastery of the blade, truly worthy of her Master’s name! She felt deeply gratified.

Once her simulation ended, she stepped back into the hideout, sweating and shaking from the exertion.

_ I’m going to take a bath, then rest for today, _ she decided.  _ Tomorrow, whether Master Kai is feeling better or not, I need to leave. _

Fortunately, she had one more lead from her earlier discussions with both her Master and the Exile: another great sage’s work she needed to learn from.

The holocron of the ancient Jedi Master Teyari’chiy. There were only three people alive who might know where to find it: Grand Master Satele, who was still missing, —though very much alive from what she had heard. Master Dayl Zoran, whom she now distrusted after his disgraceful display on Ossus. Which left Master Gnost-Dural, who would have been her first choice in any case.

“Back to Ossus for me!” she declared. “And on to find another Holocron! I hope this will be the last one...”

* * *

**Saint Harc’s Penitentiary, On the outskirts of Rineld County,** **  
** **Dubrillion**

Risha felt a dull ache in several places all over her body; her shoulders, her back, her side, her butt, but most of all her neck and face, which had still not fully healed. The rest… well the rest was better than she’d expected. 

Food tasted fine, and more to the point, wasn’t poisoned. There was enough space for her to stretch, and even get some exercise. She was allowed into the yard for walks every morning and evening under guard. She had barred windows big enough to allow a lot of light through, whenever she was of a mind. And best of all, there were no bugs in her cell itself, though of course the doors and windows were monitored closely.

Most of the staff were her own people, although the facility itself belonged to the new government. It had once been part of the Rineld County, before all that was left of his holdings was his fortified estate. She was still concerned about this place being a way to have her and many of her most capable people in the same place, one less defensible than her previous position had been, but more and more she thought that Vette had indeed managed to remind everybody that they owed their lives to Risha’s tireless efforts. 

No, now the new sham government no doubt wished to discredit her. They would probably seek evidence eagerly, and turn molehills into mountains, hoping to bury Risha underneath them. And there was little Risha could do to stop them.

She sighed, standing and giving herself a good stretch.

A slight noise from above caught her attention, and she leapt into the fresher, wishing there was better cover. And a way to defend herself. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary right now.   
The air conditioning’s grate opened and a pair of blue lekku dropped down from the ceiling.

A mischievous face followed them, looking around for her before giving her an impish upside-down smile.

“Heya, Princess!”

“Vette!”

“The one and only. Uh… knock knock?”

Risha burst into laughter. “Come on in.”

“Oooo not good,” Vette said, landing cat-like on her feet with almost no noise and giving her the finger-gun salute. “You’re supposed to say ‘Who’s there?’!”

Risha laughed again, shaking her head. “Come on in, you ridiculous sneak-thief! Am I ever happy to see you!”

“Thanks! You’re looking good too.” She frowned mock-critically. “Hmmm. Actually, you need to watch the junk food. Can’t let yourself go soft in here!”

“Yeah,” Risha agreed. “Complacency gets you killed. Especially with enemies like mine.”

“No kidding. Thought you’d be itching for some news. Oh, also...!” Vette took off her backpack and emptied its contents onto a nearby table. “Got you some supplies. Nothing fancy, but I did get some sanitary pads for you. And your herbal tea. As I remember, your periods always were on the more... irksome side.”

“You remembered right,” Risha nodded. “And just in time, actually; it should start in a few days. Thanks, seriously. You’re a life-saver.” The box had enough tea to last her at least a few months. Hmmm. They looked like they were taken from her own stores, so at least she didn’t have to worry about prices. Yet.

“In more ways than one,” Vette pulled up a collection of datacards out from under the other packets. “Here’s some books to pass the time, along with some music. I was careful not to get anything  _ too _ dangerous. The eyes in the skies would jump at any chance to hang you out to dry.”

Risha grunted. “I figured.”

“Yeah, I know you did. They didn’t offer to spare you coz they’re good people. This revolution was bloody and messy.”

“How is it looking out there?”

Vette sighed heavily and slumped into the seat. “It ain’t good. We’re in over our heads. We need your magic touch out there.”

“There’s nothing I can give that Sumalee can’t,” Risha shook her head. “At least in part. If it’s safer at the estate, you might want to consider looking in on her, getting her input.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the problems,” Vette sighed again. “Sumalee has her hands full. There’s…  _ something _ … lurking around in the estate. It hasn’t done more than make its presence known, but it’s still got everybody on edge.”

Risha’s head snapped up. “Tell me again. More details.”

“Well… people keep seeing shadows, hearing footsteps. Things go missing, only to turn up in the most unlikely places. And out in the open. Like this one time someone painted the garden blooms blood red, then placed the bucket full of paint right on top of the kitchen counter without being seen, all in broad daylight. No prints, no trails. And no tripped alarms, not a peep from decloaking scans.”

Risha gave a long, low whistle. “Damn. Anyone seen anything other than shadows?”

“No,” Vette sighed yet again. “That’s actually got them even more spooked. If it was a person it’d at least be okay, but if it’s a kriffing  _ ghost…” _

Risha chuckled nervously. “This is your idea of a joke, right? We used to tell each other ghost stories when we were girls, this is just one of those times, right?”

“No. I wish it was. No one’s getting any sleep, and Sumalee—being the resident clairvoyant—is on constant alert. She’s being worn thin.”

“Is that why you came to me?” Risha asked. “You need my input on how to deal with this?”

“Again, no,” Vette shook her head. “Like you said, Sumalee is nearly as sharp as you are. Any idea you can have, so can she. No, I’m here to talk about the political situation. It’s a powder keg. But we can get to that later. For now… tea party? We both need a cheer.”

“Of course!” Risha grinned. “Whatever hospitality I can offer is yours. I’ll get the water boiling, make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t have ta tell me twice!” Vette plopped onto the bed. She grunted in approval when she sank deep into the soft mattress. “Wow! Compared to some of the prisons we’ve been in, this is actually  _ cozy!” _

“Oh yeah! The ridiculously self-styled “President-General” has been rather generous with my prison accommodations; this is even more luxurious than my time aboard Captain Stede’s ship.”

“The ‘Voidhound’.”

“She’s only ever had the one ship, you know. Although it had a different name before Corellia.”

Vette rolled up onto her side. “Really? What was it called?”

Risha giggled. “The ‘Saucy Minx’!”

“Seriously?”

“I know, right?” Risha shook her head. “Apparently, some rich trader friend of hers once referred to Stede as ‘a saucy minx’, and she corrected him, said ‘Hey! I’m not just a saucy minx. I’m  _ the _ saucy minx!’ And she loved it so much she kept the name when she got her ship!”

Vette chuckled appreciatively. “What was it like?”

Risha sighed, recollecting. “Equal parts dull and frustrating. But familiar. Exactly how it used to be in Nok’s crew. The atmosphere, if not the exact details. Corso and Bowdaar snored so loud they could drown every alarm on the ship. Guss talked in his sleep. Non stop. And it was  _ always _ unsettling. More than once, I was glad I didn’t live in his head.”

“Your old Wookiee buddy… what happened to him?”

“Him? Oh, he took it upon himself to find and free as many gladiators and slaves as he could. Never forgot what he himself went through. He’s presumably still out there somewhere. On Tatooine, maybe.”

“He didn’t stay with Juun? Or Jerre?” Jerre had been the one to stick his neck out for Bowdaar. Had freed him from the Hutt whose name Risha had long since forgotten. 

“Bowdaar couldn’t do the life-debt thing,” Risha grunted. “Was too close to actual slavery, so far as he was concerned. Still… I’m not sure how he’d have reacted when he heard about Jerre’s murder. He’d probably be heartbroken. Might even blame himself, saying that he should have been there to protect him.”

Vette looked so sad, her gaze focused on something a hundred parsecs away. “I do hope Corso’s message never reaches him.” 

The next minutes passed in silence. Risha prepared the tea and poured them out—Vette had been kind enough to pack a pair of ceramic mugs in her hamper. She accepted her cup from Risha before speaking again. “You didn’t mention Jerre in your list of sleep obstacles.”

“Oh, I didn’t? Well… compared to the others he was quiet as a mouse. I remember him a lot more fondly. He was a good listener too. But in the end, he wanted a stable life. On the ground. To have a family. Once he had Nok Drayen’s fortune, he had everything he needed to settle down. So he did, with spacing being more of a day-job than a full time occupation.” Risha sighed and leaned back in her seat, looking up at the dimmed lights above. “Who could have known that I would come to  _ miss _ all of that noise and grime when I moved into Merritt’s Palace? The silks and padded cushions felt delightful after decades living out of a shoebox, but it took me ages to get used to my new normal.”

“And now your normal has changed again.”

“Oh yeah. But I can accept the drop in comfort more easily if only I had a blaster or two to defend myself. I feel helpless as a bantha calf here.”

“I get your meaning, Your Highness.”

“So how’s it for you, nowadays?” Risha asked her. “Politics is like the farthest thing from what I pictured you ever doing.”

“Well… is this really politics? It feels more like streetgang power plays to me. Intimidate your opponents, hide your weaknesses, puff yourself up to look bigger than you really are—” Vette spread out her arms and shoulders in a silly imitation of size and Risha laughed. Few would find her friend intimidating, but few could guess how dangerous she actually was. “And rile up people in support of your own plans, or to oppose rivals. Even Sith politics wasn’t this… primal.”

“I suppose we do understand gang warfare, don’t we?”

“Yes we do.”

Risha deliberated for a moment before going on. “And how is it working so closely with your ex?”

Vette shrunk in her seat. “Well… technically we never divorced. We’re just separated. And it’s… awkward, thank you very much.”

“I was surprised he offered to protect you,” Risha said.

“Yeah, tell me about it. Guy loves me far more than I deserve.”

“If there’s anyone who deserves love, my lil buddy, it’s you.”

“Not after what I did to him,” she said, her teeth gritted. There was pain there, Risha could see. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Well, I cheated on him a lot. He actually caught me in the act by accident a few times. But the worst thing was when I stole an expensive jewel from him.”

“You  _ what?” _

Vette cringed. “Yeah. It was an old Twi’lek artifact. You know I was into restoring our relics…”

“I know, I know. But still, from your own husband…”

“Yeah,” Vette looked pained. “Worst thing was… he told me he’d have just given it to me if I’d asked. And the second he found out I was in danger, he turns up to look out for me. I really don’t deserve him, Risha.”

Risha patted her shoulder. “Then… can you be better? Be worthy of him?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever mend  _ that _ bridge.”

“Last year, I’d have said so too. But he’s here, now. He still cares, that much is obvious.”

“Doesn’t mean he trusts me anymore. Or can give me another chance. And I don’t even blame him.”

Risha privately agreed with her friend, but she couldn’t say it out loud. “But why don’t you ask him? Let him make that choice.”

Vette sipped the rest of her tea in silence.

She looked at her chrono and started. “Oh, is  _ that _ the time? I gotta get going, Highness. Meetings in an hour. Gimme a boost, would you?”

Risha allowed Vette to clamber onto her shoulders to reach the vent she’d entered through. “Is it safe for you to come?” Risha asked.

“Oh, it’s quite safe. In fact, the guards know I’m here.”

“What? Why in heavens’ name aren’t you using the door then?”

Vette stared at her as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This way’s  _ way _ more fun.”

* * *


	16. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: even if I've failed at this, I was going for horror

* * *

**Dubrillion**

Ka rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. She did not like this world at all. It had seen a lot of death recently, felt so much pain and anger. And more blood was spilled every day, hundreds of people being killed in the town square every day. The air was thick with the sound of wailing. Cries for justice, for vengeance against those who had wronged them. 

Not that anyone but her heard it. It was only she who could hear the restless dead. It was her greatest curse.

She whimpered softly, her nervous bounce intensifying. 

Behind her, the door opened and she went still at once. Her new Overseer walked in, a large duffel bag that squirmed in his arms. “Good, you’re right on time,” he grunted in Huttese. She understood it better than Basic or Mando’a, but wished he could speak in her native Dathomiri, or even the Mistress’ Togruti. 

He set the bag down on the table and beckoned her over. “Excellent job with the scares. You’ve got the Rineld and Drayen guards studying every shadow in the palace. As expected of a Ghostsister.” He gave her a very wide grin. “I’ve informed your Mistress of your quality. Tough to tell with her, but I think she’s pleased.” Ka felt a surge of desperate pleasure. “But I think it’s enough with the harmless scares. It’s time to escalate.”

“Yes sir,” she responded dully.

* * *

Juun was walking through an apartment complex: the one she had lived in as a child. The lights were all out, everywhere, and the only illumination came from three of the planet’s small moons. Despite the darkness, however, her steps were sure and steady. She walked through the twisted, cramped stairwells and hallways, idly drifting around the swirling maze, when a hissing sounded behind her.

She jumped a mile high. She turned around, trembling, and saw the massive hooded head of a cobra mere feet behind her. She tried to shriek, but her mouth failed to utter any sounds at all. She tried to run, but her feet may have been sacks full of rocks from how heavy they felt.

Paralyzed by terror, she turned back to look at the snake, to silently beg it to spare her, and found its sinuous length wrapped around a body with a shock of pink hair. “No…” she whimpered. “Jerre…”

The snake opened its mouth and hissed violently at her, and all of a sudden, she felt movement return to her body. She hurtled through the corridors at full speed, corridors which were now littered with corpses. She recognized many of them; friends and acquaintances, enemies and rivals, some dead by her hand, some as a consequence of her actions, others merely collateral damage of the great war.

Little Lui and her children, who had been slaughtered because the brainless thugs had walked into her house instead of Juun’s, two doors down. Bolas, who had been the one to arrange for her children’s adoption, accidentally gunned down when he startled a Republic trooper. The soldier in question still sat next to the Twi’lek’s body, silently beseeching the man to come back to life.

Another Twi’lek, this one a woman whose name she never found out, who she herself had killed by accident when on the run from Charrada’s hitmen, who she only knew as the wife of…

She stopped suddenly, hearing the hissing again. This time, it came from all around her, and from multiple mouths. She found five of the snakes emerging from the mess of corpses, all thick as tree trunks and angry as a charging Sith Lord, and she woke up screaming.

* * *

Waking up brought little comfort to Juun; first she felt the million or so snakes from her dreams squirming under the blankets, wrapping themselves around her calves and chest.

Then she saw a pair of molten, disembodied eyes staring straight through her soul. In their quiet study, she found true horror as her ghosts tumbled out of the places in her head she had securely locked them away, all moaning her name.

She screamed again, this time loud and long, a shriek that seemed to hang around the estate for the next hour.

* * *

Beryl Thorne sat in a chair in med bay, watching over Captain Stede as she slept under heavy sedatives. She had suffered an almost total nervous breakdown when she had woken up, snakes in her bed and severed heads on her desk.

The serpents were the small and nonvenomous variety; rat and pond and garden snakes, but that hadn’t mattered to the poor, ophidiophobic woman. Add in the heads, which all bore close resemblance to poor Jerre Kraot, and she had stood no chance. She had broken in a most pitifully spectacular fashion, with even the most steadfast guards taken aback from the scene.

“Our ghost has started getting serious,” Akaavi had said, her voice shaking. “Most unfortunate.”

The entire household had grown more terrified by the event, and several of the staff and guards had left once morning came. Whoever their unknown enemy was, they meant business.

Beryl wished she had stayed on Taris. But she paid her debts, stood by her friends. That was her only absolute rule. “You had my back, Captain,” she whispered. “Now I’ll have yours. That’s a promise.”

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Book 3, Chapter 16: Return to Dromund Kaas  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122301/chapters/72303918


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